The Rhett Butler Affair
by Lara B. Caine
Summary: Pirate, gambler, speculator...conspirator? Within the corruption-ridden world of Washington politics, Rhett Butler finds himself in the center of an international scandal.  Can Scarlett save him before it's too late?
1. Don't Let Scarlett Know

**A Note from the Author: I've had a ball on this site thus far; thanks to all of the WONDERFUL folks who've reviewed my other story. It's not quite finished, but I wanted a little break from allegory, symbolism, and Irish fairytales. So, why not try a bit of adventure? Please feel free to throw out constructive criticism. Believe me, it's inspirational! **

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><p><strong>The Rhett Butler Affair<strong>

**Chapter 1:**

**8 November 1873**

The week before, Rhett Butler had spent all his moments tracing and retracing his steps around Atlanta. He was like a lost little boy, orphaned and without a mother to comfort him. He had a mother, yes, but she was far away in Charleston, living out her old age in blissful solitude, with no desire for him to intrude upon it. Butler had a wife as well, although he wished he did not. He had heard it said amongst the Irishmen in his acquaintance that the devil is a woman. Ha! Butler thought, the devil _is_ a woman, and her name is Scarlett O'Hara.

"You ain't fit fer nothing!" the whore, Belle Watling had said to him when he showed up outside her sporting house, looking more a like a washed up drunk than a respectable gentleman. "Look at you, Rhett! Ain't gonna let her beat you like that, are you?"

Belle had called for her man to haul him into the place, had him cleaned up and shaven.

"And no whiskey fer you neither!" Belle had ordered.

A week later, and Rhett was looking more presentable. He was sitting on Belle's own silk-sheeted featherbed, gazing at her over the top of the newspaper.

"You look like yer in a trance," Belle observed. He might have been listening to something far away. As Belle continued to watch him, Rhett persisted in his stance, not looking away from the door.

"Think she's comin' back fer you? That what yer waiting for, Rhett?"

The poor thing is lost, Belle mused, all that he had went with that baby girl, and then Scarlett treated him so rotten.

"Rhett?" Belle tried again to break up the tension. Rhett continued to sit still, though Belle knew he was listening to her. "You got to git up and git on with life. Understand? Where did yer wife go, anyway?"

"The white elephant." Rhett stated simply, his voice low.

"Don't talk nonsense. You ain't had a drink in days! I knew she skipped town after Miz Wilkes's funeral and took her boy and girl with her. I hope she went to hell where she belong!"

"Oh be quiet, won't you, Belle?" Rhett choked.

"Fine. But I'll say it again, Rhett. You ain't got to let her ruin you."

"If she has," Rhett said in a slow, hypnotic voice, "I let her do it. And if I had it to do over again, I would let her do it again." Rhett leaned forward in the big bed, not breaking his gaze.

"What was that?" his eyes moved toward the door. There was a brief silence, followed by a pounding coming from directly below them.

"Probably some drunk that don't know we're closed on Sunday." Belle shrugged her shoulders. There was silence again, then a blast of activity. Belle's girls downstairs were all shouting curses and catcalls which combined into one loud swarm of noise.

"Miz Watling?" Belle's light skinned Negro, Philemon, was standing guard at his mistress's door, his wide eyes big and round like a scared child's.

"Well? See what's going on!" Belle was already opening the safe which held her license and other necessary documents. "Is it the law?"

Rhett got up from the bed and walked towards the door before Philemon could open it.

Two plainly dressed men in brown suits were standing there, waiting.

"Captain Rhett Butler, if you please." One of the men said calmly.

"He's been here with me all evening. You gents'll have to take yer business elsewhere tonight." Belle scowled at the officers, both of whom did not even give her a second glance.

"You are Mrs. Watling?" the second man rubbed his chin. "The owner of this establishment?"

"I run it." Belle said evenly. "And I can vouch for this man. One of my regulars."

The first man circled around Rhett, as if appraising him. After his inspection he glanced at the other man and nodded, as if to say 'that's our man'.

"We have no qualm with you, Mrs. Watling. But if you continue to harbor fugitives, there may be trouble for you. Now sir, you are Captain Rhett Butler, formerly of the Confederate States Navy?"

Rhett surveyed the men with a look of casual annoyance. "That is indeed my name, gentlemen, but as we all know, the war has been over for quite some time. And as Mrs. Watling has already said, I have been here all evening, so certainly, I can be in no trouble."

"You're under arrest, Captain Butler."

"On what charge?" Rhett began to laugh loudly. "And who is it that's arresting me?"

The first man took a badge out of his jacket pocket. "We're Pinkerton's, Captain Butler. And the United States government has a case a mile long against you. Racketeering, extortion, piracy…but the conspiracy to commit treason charge is why we're here."

Rhett's eyes widened slightly. "And just who am I supposed to have betrayed, gentlemen?"

"The eight Americans that have just been executed by the Spanish government in Cuba. On a ship owned by you, carrying orders signed by you."

"I am at a loss, gentlemen." The agents recognized the fear in Butler's eyes.

"You'll come with us, Captain Butler."

"I'm familiar with the city jail," Rhett regained his confidence. "And I expect my lawyer to be present. You can call Henry Hamilton here in town to represent me while my own lawyer travels from New Orleans."

"Captain Butler, we have orders to escort you to Washington, where you will await a federal trial. Your lawyer can come to you there."

Rhett's eyes flashed toward the door, then the window, then back to the two Pinkerton detectives holding their pistols. "Make it easy on yourself, Captain Butler. If you've done nothing wrong, then it will be settled in Washington."

"No!" Belle let out a little scream. "You can't just take him!"

"Mrs. Watling, we can. Now I'd advise you to quiet down your girls downstairs, or we'll have the constable shut you down for disturbing the peace. Captain Butler, if you please."

The man motioned for Rhett to hold out his arms, which he did. The handcuffs clinked with a peculiar sound of finality.

"Now then, we have a train to catch."

Rhett's face slowly was drained of its color as the two Pinkerton's stood on either side of him, each taking hold of one of his arms. He took one last look at Belle, who was sobbing freely.

"Don't let Scarlett know about this, Belle. You hear me? Don't you dare let her know!"


	2. Rhett in Prison

**Chapter 2**

"Rhett Kinnicutt Butler, you have been indicted under federal law for the crimes of murder, conspiracy to commit murder against an officer of the United States Navy, conspiracy to aid and abet the Cuban rebels against the government of Spain, conspiracy to commit espionage, and conspiracy to commit treason against the United States. How do you plea?"

Rhett Butler stared down the line of black-robed federal justices, his eyes dull. The light was dim and he squinted as he read the deposition in front of him. He was in the deepest trouble of his life, and he had a suspicion that getting out of it would not be a simple matter of calling in a favor from one of his old contacts in Washington. He continued to squint as he sought a familiar face on which to rest his eyes, and seeing none, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

"My client wishes to enter the plea of not guilty, sir." Rhett's counselor, Mr. Talley, stated in his reedy little voice. The man was tall and thin and rather ill-looking, Rhett observed. He was unfamiliar with this man, and had been irked to find him waiting for him instead of his own solicitor from New Orleans. Mr. Talley's bony face was covered slightly by his scraggly grey beard, about the same color as Ashley Wilkes's eyes.

I must be out of my head, Rhett thought, if I can picture Ashley's eyes.

Soon the hearing was done and Rhett was returned to his dark cell on the other end of the Washington Arsenal. Seeing the cell again made him glum, for it was small and sparse, decorated only by a straw mattress, a table and chair, a wash basin, and a bucket which he assumed was for his bodily fluids. He hadn't felt like asking the guards, two of which stood outside his cell at all times. They weren't in the least bit friendly and obliging like the Yankees who had occupied Atlanta.

"I'll see if I can get you something better to eat," Mr. Talley offered as the door shut behind them. "I reckon after a week of salt pork and soft bread, your stomach's a bit raw?"

Rhett nodded, but still attacked the waiting lunch as though it would be his last.

"Some beer would help," Mr. Talley nodded. "Too much water loosens the bowels."

"So, what kind of a case do they have against me?" Rhett leaned in a little and whispered to the man as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I understand it to be substantial. The Pinkerton detectives have been tracking you for quite some time, well before the war, Mr. Butler."

"When does my damn lawyer get here?" Rhett growled.

Mr. Talley coughed slightly. "Your lawyer cannot travel without surety that his expenses will be met."

"Hell with that!" Rhett cursed a bit more loudly than he had intended. "I pay him enough as it is to look after my interests. I sent him a telegram that my situation was most urgent. Talley. I need you to reiterate that to him."

"Sir, he cannot access your accounts. No one can. The government has seized all of you assets within the borders of the United States. Even if you have funds abroad, sir, I would strongly suggest that you refrain from touching them."

Rhett sighed heavily. "So how am I expected to defend myself?"

"Frankly, Mr. Butler, the cards are fully stacked against you. I myself have seen some of the Government's evidence, and it seems incontrovertible."

"So, what am I looking at? Five years? Ten?"

Mr. Talley's face softened momentarily. "If you are found guilty of treason, Mr. Butler, you'll hang. And right now, sir, it seems a definite possibility."

"Get the hell out of here." Rhett's voice lowered dangerously. "Get out or by God I'll kill you myself."

Mr. Talley said nothing, only bowing slightly. "I'll do what I can." He paused for a moment before exiting. "Mr. Butler? I understand you have an estranged wife and children-"

"Stepchildren," Rhett corrected automatically. "No children living."

"Right," Mr. Talley said, as if he could rephrase his query in a more favorable way. "Would you like me to advise your wife and stepchildren of your situation?"

To Mr. Talley's horror, his client began to laugh, then he scowled and was silent.

"Well think on it," Mr. Talley inclined his head again. "Your trial won't commence for at least a month. We'll meet closer till then to discuss the particulars. And if there is anything I can do for you in the meantime, all you need do is ask."

Rhett shifted in his seat, thinking for a brief moment of writing Scarlett, but then trembling at the thought of her pity. That would be far worse than her anger or disappointment, and the last thing he wanted was for her to see him in a position of helplessness.

He washed his mouth out with the swill that was coffee and spat it out. Finally, he wiped his eyes of their wetness with his sleeve, and decided to lay down. As he closed his weary eyes, feeling all of his forty-five years, Rhett tried to imagine the old times which he held so dear.

He longed for dreams, memories, anything to occupy his thoughts…but all he could recall was the sound of his own words: "my dear, I don't give a damn", juxtaposed with the memory of Scarlett's stunned face.


	3. Enter Scarlett

**A/N: Apologies for the short length of the chapters thus far. The length will increase as the story progresses, rest assured. Please enjoy, review, critique. I love to hear what my readers think! **

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><p><strong>Chapter 3:<strong>

Scarlett O'Hara Butler was sitting on the front porch, snapping beans, her children sitting directly at her feet. Repetitive motion was good for thinking of other things, and Scarlett's head was full.

There had never been a man she couldn't get, once she set her mind upon him, but Rhett was nowhere to be found. She had immediately written his mother in Charleston, informed her that Rhett was still grieving for Bonnie and needed some time to adjust to life without her by himself, and also that she and the children would be at Tara if he needed anything. Mrs. Butler's reply had been genuinely kind and filled with concern for her son and his wife, but filled with anguish that he had not so much as set foot in Charleston. Scarlett had then tried to write Rhett's solicitor in New Orleans and the bank manager in Atlanta. Weeks had passed, and she had heard nothing from either of the men. Sometimes, she supposed that he had just disappeared entirely, crawled away like a sick cat to die alone; other times, she was certain that he was just doing it to spite her. If she had been certain that he was at Belle Watling's house, she would have even swallowed her pride and written the woman…but that would be a last resort, Scarlett decided.

She observed her remaining children with some semblance of pride, for they did her a credit. Wade was bent over his own pile of beans, looking up at his mother every so often as if to reassure himself that she was still there. Ella owned sharp little eyes but had baby-soft skin, which exempted her from any sort of hard labor. She had insisted on bringing all ten of her baby dolls to Tara, but Scarlett would only allow her to play with one at a time, so carefully the child carried the porcelain-faced one with the blue silk dress, rocking it ever so gently. Ella was a plain, meek, maternal creature, but Scarlett was pleased by the blush of her cheeks which softened her appearance. Perhaps they would both be handsome and pretty one day, though neither possessed Bonnie's stunning good looks. There was not a day that passed by that Mammy did not praise them for one accomplishment or another, and Scarlett attempted to imitate the practice.

She was happy at Tara, content with the children, but she needed Rhett. Violently, passionately, in a way in which she had never needed Ashley for all years that she had loved him, she needed Rhett. He was like air or water or another fundamental thing that has to be had but cannot be explained. And she couldn't find him.

"Scarlett! I need the beans! Will's going to be wanting his dinner when he gets back from town." Scarlett rolled her eyes at Suellen's bossy tone, but she _was _doing the cooking and she _was _the lady of the house.

"Come on, Wade Hampton," Scarlett pulled the corners of her apron up, careful not to lose her pile of beans. "You too, Ella. Put your doll upstairs and wash up for dinner." She walked slowly into the kitchen and dumped her beans into the waiting pot, enduring Suellen's castigations about how poorly she worked. She wanted to make a comment about the source of the new dress Suellen proudly wore, but she held her tongue. Suellen worked hard, and suffering her presence without complaint was the least she could do in return for the hospitality. Absently, Scarlett turned to walk towards the table, stopping to observe the open newspaper.

"Look at this, Suellen! More and more bad news. You're lucky you don't have money in anything but cotton. There's no construction, no wages, and no profits! I'll be lucky if the store doesn't go completely under."

"At least you have your husband's money to fall back on." Suellen said this facetiously, but with a bit of optimism, for her own lot had improved substantially when Scarlett had married Rhett Butler.

"I do hope my orders from Atlanta are in," Scarlett clapped her hands with glee. The newspaper with its tell of panic and depression left her thoughts and was replaced by the happy idea of the new fabrics and patterns which would make her lovely gowns for the spring. Her winter gowns would be arriving too, all the rich velvets and furs. It was so lovely to afford nice things…if only Rhett were around to see how fine she would look.

"Ah's hopin' there gwine be word from Mist' Rhett," Mammy stated, her large frame taking up most of the doorway as her eagle eyes scanned the horizon for Will's horse.

"When is Uncle Rhett coming to see us?" Wade said this impatiently, his question addressed to Mammy or his mother or anyone who would hear him.

"Soon!" Scarlett said with a mad rush of hope. She giggled like a child and to Wade's embarrassment, kissed him on the cheek.

"There he is!" Suellen focused her gaze on a rider traveling down the long avenue. "Mammy, the bread, please. Scarlett, stop fluttering about." She ceased her toil as Will lumbered into the house. He paused briefly to greet the cluster of children, Wade and Ella, and his own daughter, Susie.

"I want me some whiskey, please." Will took the cup from Suellen and drank deeply. "That's fine. " Will sighed as he met Scarlett's eyes. It wouldn't be easy to say what he had to tell her. Her green eyes were fixed on him, threatening to penetrate his very soul.

"Scarlett, I had three different telegrams for you from Atlanta. Your orders ain't come yet, so I opened the one from the store…seems that your bank account is frozen. You can't touch it for nothing. And ole Henry Hamilton says there ain't nothing can be done about it."

"Rhett's cut me off?" Scarlett's eyes widened with horror. She had not expected that, not even from Rhett.

"I don't think so," Will said, his voice cracked from dryness. "I think its Rhett which has been cut off." Without speaking further, Will handed Scarlett the remaining unopened telegram, from one Herbert Talley in Washington.

She said nothing for the first few minutes as her shrewd eyes took in the information. Will took the bottle of whiskey to his lips and drank deeply, pausing only to take a peek at Scarlett's face.

"What's happened, Scarlett?" Suellen was the bravest of them all.

Scarlett was breathing rapidly and sweating heavily; for a moment Will thought that she might faint. Instead, she steeled herself and met Will's eyes.

"Will, I need to go to Atlanta. Tonight. We've got to raise some money, and fast!"


	4. New Representation

**Chapter 4:**

Rhett's cell door was kept bolted at all times, and only the tiniest crack of light manifested itself through the doorway, a castoff from some far off window. It infuriated Rhett to no end to be kept in the dark; subjecting a powerful, active man to idleness was torture enough, but to throw him in the dark? It was worse than death. If Rhett had been a praying man, he would have prayed for deliverance in any form, but he had long abandoned any notions of God. In Rhett's own mind, he had already suffered as much as Job during his decade long obsession with Scarlett, so to seek the ear of a higher power was only asking for more punishment. So Rhett waited. Three days went by, or was it four? Surely it hadn't been five.

A loud rapping roused him from his stupor. The bolt was lifted and a shocking wave of light came in, exposing Rhett in his helpless and pathetic state, head buried within his hands.

"That'll be all, son." The voice which came out of the big face was deep and throaty, with a distinctive Coastal lilt. "Captain Butler? Hiram P. Drake, Attorney at Law. Pleasure's mine."

Rhett rubbed his eyes and appraised the huge man before him. His first impression had been that the man was an undertaker or a preacher, so severe was his pressed black suit. The man was as big as he was tall, with beefy hands and fingers that looked like little sausages atop his silver-topped cane.

"By God, that's a rank odor!" Drake sniffed the air. "I'll see if I can't get you a more comfortable cell."

Rhett's expression changed instantly from distrust to pleading.

"Your lady said you were a gentleman. You'd never think it. Of course, that's the point of it all, I suppose."

Rhett's heart skipped a beat. "Do you mean to tell me that Scarlett sent you?"

"Was that her name?" Drake said casually, wiping his nose with the silk handkerchief from his jacket. "Fancy piece of goods from Atlanta. Wouldn't have taken her for a lady. Handed me a wad of greenbacks though, Mr. Butler. Money like that gets my attention. Fortunately for you, I'm worth every penny."

"Odd, I've never heard of you." Rhett's voice had lost all care and interest. So Belle had sent the man; he was probably another of her regulars…

The man didn't appear to have heard him, and took a seat in Rhett's small chair; his large body was spilling over it, rendering him almost comical.

"I worked the Sickles case. You might have heard of it, back in fifty-nine?"

Rhett shook his head.

"Well, ole Dan Sickles was the nastiest client I ever took. Downright scoundrel then and now if you ask me. Shot his wife's lover in cold blood. Right in front of the White House, no less!"

Rhett had to smirk at that thought. Although the thought of shooting the hapless Ashley really gave him no satisfaction, the idea of it was nice.

"Acquitted of all charges…" Drake was still talking, "…and then, they gave him the Congressional Medal of Honor! Damn near got court marshaled for his performance at Gettysburg though. My oldest boy was in his unit. Worst General in the whole damn army." He paused his speech when he noticed Rhett's continued silence.

"You ever in the army?"

"I was a West Pointer. But not regular army. I joined the war effort late." Rhett said dully. "I was at Franklin."

"Reb or Yank?"

"Confederate."

"Hmm." Drake looked down at Rhett over his folded arms. "I never saw the sense in the damn thing. Boys killing boys. Two of my own boys lost legs. Wife's brother lost his life. Damn fools."

"That's what I thought about them, too…" Rhett mused to himself but did not say aloud.

"Well, I always said war and politics was the devil's playground. You've got yourself in a right mess, don't you, Captain Butler?"

"So it would seem."

"Well. If you're hiring me, which you already have, it means you've put your money where my mouth is. So, if I say the sky's green you agree with me, right?"

"I'm guilty as sin on paper, Drake. My ship, my crew, my orders…what more do they need?"

"Your lady friend didn't figure you for a quitter. Should I give her the money back and tell her you're not interested?"

Rhett was tempted to tell him exactly what he thought of his 'counsel', but was truly desperate for some human contact, so he held his tongue.

Satisfied that his client was penitent, Drake continued. "So what did that dolt of a government stooge Talley say about your options?"

"He told me that I should begin writing my will."

"Figures," Drake smirked. "Well, Captain Butler. We can request that you be tried in a civilian court, or, due to your past service, you can request a military tribunal. Either way you're looking at the noose if you're convicted."

"Splendid," Rhett unconsciously gulped.

"Personally, I think the tribunal is the way to go. We can at least gauge the quality of the men on the jury. When they pull civilians off the streets, you can never be sure who they're working for and believe me, Captain Butler, they're always working for someone."

"Right."

"I'll file papers today for a military tribunal, then. But I'll request another two or three months to investigate the charges fully. Those damn Pinkerton boys are thick as thieves with the Justice Department. And the Republicans have their tails between their legs over the economy. They'll be sweating to get you tried and hung before the election next year."

"So, in the meantime, I'll be rotting in here?" Rhett's voice was filled with bitterness.

"I assure you, Captain Butler, the longer you remain here, the less chance you have of getting the noose. No sense in hanging you for their mess if its after the election and doesn't matter in the slightest. Now, I will see about a different cell. Somewhere fitting for you to receive visitors."

"I don't want visitors," Rhett sighed. Even in a proper cell, the last thing he wanted was Scarlett or Ashley or anyone remotely connected to them to turn up in sympathy.

"That's your affair," Drake scoffed. "Keep your chin up, Captain Butler."


	5. Hatchets Buried

**Chapter 5:**

Keeping close to the hedgerow, Scarlett tiptoed very carefully through the grass, avoiding contact with the street. She needed absolute silence for her mission, for that's how she thought of it. Ashley is no help, she fumed internally, leaving me to do this. He had been in the lumber mill when she had arrived in Atlanta, well past closing time but nonetheless slaving over the bookkeeping which had always eluded him. Wilkes men were not meant for such petty things as money counting.

While he had been genuinely happy to see her, she knew that he still was grieving desperately for Melanie and she should be sweet to him. There was little time for that, though. When she had broken down in his arms and told him about her frozen bank account and Rhett's arrest, he had wrung his hands and said a pretty speech about selling the mills to pay for Rhett's defense. Ashley, she had cried, can't you see that the mills are all we have left for profit…I may need to live with you if Rhett is…if something happens.

All that, all that had been wrong about their former relationship had disintegrated, and Ashley had immediately arranged for Hugh Elsing to take over his duties at the mill so that he was able to function as Scarlett's emissary. If she needed something done immediately, he did it. He rode as far as Tara and back in a day just to borrow more money from Will, the Tarletons, the Fontaines, anyone in the County who had a cent to spare. They combined all that they had, her money from the store and saloon; even pilfering Wade and Beau's college funds. We'll pay it back, Scarlett thought with a mad fury.

But even Ashley could not be prevailed upon to do what Scarlett herself was doing. He would not step across the threshold of Belle Watling's sporting house while there was a breath left in his body. Damn his honor! Scarlett cursed him again and again, but then reminded herself that this horrible business was all for Rhett, Rhett who was in such terrible trouble.

The three story house was imposing, Scarlett acknowledged. Belle's new house put most of its neighbors to shame, especially with the stained glass windows and silk draperies it was supposed to have boasted. Although she was terribly concerned for Rhett, Scarlett felt an inextricable stab of disdain for Belle Watling and the allure of her fine home. What man wouldn't want to escape to such a place? Ashley, Scarlett answered her own question, even for a good cause.

Shamefacedly, Scarlett knocked three times on the door of the back entrance. Hadn't Rhett said that he had a key? She couldn't even think, so fast her heart was pounding.

A light skinned Negro stuck his head out the door, looking a little fearful.

"Git out, trash! Miz Watling sho don't want no counts."

"I am a lady!" Scarlett whispered loudly with as much dignity as she could muster. "I need to see your mistress. Now!"

As the man was trying to spit out a retort, Scarlett heard very clearly the sotto voice of Belle Watling herself.

"What's all this, Phil?"

At one time, Scarlett would have looked upon Belle with particular interest, for all young ladies of good birth have a natural curiosity about working women, but this night, she only met the other woman's eyes levelly. Belle's face was contorted into an expression of ravaged recognition.

"What the Hell are you doing here, Miz Butler?"

Scarlett shrank under Belle's scrutiny. "I came on a private matter, but an important one. May I come in?"

Belle's face betrayed a hint of emotion, but she kept her irritation to a minimum.

"Lemme git my shawl. I'll come out in the streets to you. Hide your face good, you hear?"

Scarlett nodded quickly and withdrew to the darkest corner of the hedgerow. In a few moments, Belle appeared before Scarlett, making her feel instantly small and fragile. Belle was a tall woman anyway, but she also carried herself with a certain confidence that was not seen in the gently born. She was streetwise and savvy, and for a moment, Scarlett was able to put aside her dislike for Atlanta's most infamous madam.

"You heard from Rhett?" Belle asked with no warning.

"No," Scarlett replied, an unconscious thrill running through her at the mention of his name. "Mr. Ashley Wilkes and Mr. Henry Hamilton are on the train to Washington this night to see what can be done."

"Bah!" Belle guffawed, "What's Rhett going to think when Mister Wilkes shows up? Offering bleedin' charity! You ain't got no sense at all when it comes to men, have you? Or are you just that cruel?"

"Cruel!" Scarlett blanched at the criticism. "I have not slept for a day and night, and I've been selling everything I own because I can't touch Rhett's money! How dare you?"

"I dare," Belle said dryly, "cause Rhett is my friend. He's been a damn good one to me and I to him, how d'you like that, Miz Fine Airs? And before you start giving me 'scuses for your conduct you listen to me. And I know you think it ain't my place to say it but it is cause you came to me. Here's the truth, Miz Butler, you ain't never been good enough for Rhett. But he liked you. I bet he even loved you. But you broke his fightin' spirit, sister. You kilt what was left of a good man cause you was busy scheming over someone else's. And when I think of poor Rhett, bein' dragged out in chains by them law men, last words out of his mouth is don't tell Scarlett, Belle."

"Rhett said that?" Scarlett choked out.

"Just like that. Cause he didn't want you to see him in trouble. He always set such a store 'bout being successful like around you. He's in a heap of trouble already and now you've done sent Mister Wilkes to rub it in his face. Not that Mister Wilkes'll do it on purpose. But it'll ruin Rhett's heart just the same."

"Oh you do run on!" Scarlett's initial feeling of embarrassment had been replaced by anger, and she held her head up defiantly. "Rhett left _me_, or did he tell you that? Now listen here, Mrs. Watling, I don't like you any more than you like me, but I came to you for help, so I'll thank you to listen."

It was Belle's turn to shut her mouth, to observe with a grudging respect the fierce look in Mrs. Butler's green eyes.

"Now, I've spent all of my own savings, five thousand greenbacks, well I know its not much to you, but it's all I've saved from the store. I can't touch a penny of Rhett's money, so I had to use what I'd saved for Wade's education… Anyway, Uncle Henry referred a lawyer from Charleston who lives down the street from me. He's retired, but Henry says he's quite good…said he could get anyone out of anything. He was a rotten sort of fellow, but he left yesterday for Washington and I think that I've convinced him to take Rhett's case. And I sent Uncle Henry on to help him and Ashley…well…Ashley has been so distressed since Melly died, he's useless at the mill. I think he'll be a help should Rhett need anything. At least he's doing _something_."

Belle cleared her throat loudly. "So, what exactly do you need little ole me for, Miz Butler?

"I need money." Scarlett felt the accelerated beating of her own heart. "Well, when I say me, I mean the children. I just gave away all of my own money and Ashley's to that lawyer. I was just so scared when I got that telegram. They could hang him!"

At the sound of the word 'hang', Belle's painted face lost all of its color, and any pleasure she had gotten out of hearing the hated Scarlett grovel was gone from her. For a moment, it wasn't Scarlett standing in front of her, it was just another poor desperate soul, a kindred spirit.

"Hush up, I heard you. So, you sure that lawyer feller is a good 'un?"

"Henry says that he's tried cases like this before."

"Yeah but has he won any?" Belle shook her head at Scarlett's innocence. "So, if I was ter lend you some money, you'd take them children and go back ter yer grand plantation?"

Scarlett looked appalled. "I'm going to Washington immediately…well…as soon as I find some money for the train. I already took twenty from my brother-in-law and that's all he can spare without too much difficulty. And the children are coming with me. Henry said that the trial could be dragged out for months, and the children can't-I can't be without the children for months."

Belle nodded her head and motioned for Scarlett to stop speaking. Without another word she disappeared into her house, returning only seconds later with a velvet beaded bag. "You'll need to stay somewhere respectable in Washington. In separate hotels from Mister Wilkes, mind, so folk don't talk. Wouldn't do Rhett no good to hear 'bout no new scandals of yer making."

Scarlett glanced inside the little bag. "It's too much!" She nearly cried as her hands touched the crisp wad of greenbacks.

"That's a little over a thousand. Should make do 'bout a month, if you don't squander it. But if you need more, I do my business with Mr. Henderson at the bank. Send a wire to him and I can send more."

"Thank you." Scarlett said sincerely, with no trace of malice in her voice.

"Well," Belle said softly. "Ain't gonna have it said that I ain't got a heart. You give Rhett my love. My _sisterly _love." Belle added the last.

Scarlett nodded one last time, cognizant of the wetness about her eyes. The two women turned to depart, Scarlett to the depot and Belle to her house. They had entered into a binding contract on this night, a metaphor which both of them could understand, being shrewd businesswomen; however, both were weary, for at stake was not currency or goods, but the life of the man they both loved.

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><p><strong>AN: So Scarlett is finally off to Washington, and the stage is set for my favorite part, the conjugal visit. Ladies, thank you for the nice reviews. It's nice to know that someone's reading, and enjoying. :)**


	6. The Chess Match of Politics

**Chapter 6: **

Secretary of State Hamilton Fish squinted slightly as his driver opened his carriage door. The beautiful day was fine, yet Secretary Fish had to spend the rest of it indoors, attempting to smooth over bruised egos and hard feelings within the Cabinet well enough to avoid a war. Ten days before, an American owned ship had been discovered off the coast of Cuba, loaded down with contraband items intended to reach the rebels in Havana. Although the ship had easily been outrun by the Spanish gunners in the harbor, the local authorities had wasted no time in trying and executing eight members of the crew as pirates. It was a nasty affair, Fish thought to himself, embarrassing, but not worth going to war over.

Fish got out of the carriage cautiously, glancing to his right and left as if ascertaining his safety. They were within the White House gardens, what the hell could happen? Ha! Secretary Fish thought to himself, we thought Lincoln was invincible, and look what happened to him. The current President was not made of the same stuff as Lincoln, much to Fish's disappointment. He had recognized Grant's abilities as a general during the war, and he had even voted for the man…but he didn't particularly like him.

"Mr. Fish!" the voice of the man called from one of the terraces. "How good of you to come."

Fish wore a scowl as he was escorted up the stairway and into the private parlor where the man who had addressed him was standing guard.

"Mr. Babcock." Fish acknowledged the man with a look of loathing, hoping it was enough to convey his point that his presence was not desired.

"The President is waiting for you, Secretary." Orville Babcock was Grant's private secretary, a nasty little man if Fish had ever seen one. Babcock was always sniffing around like a bloodhound for an advantage, and Fish was certain that the other man had made a fortune off of the President's good graces.

"Bad business, Mr. Babcock. Bad business, indeed. How is the President this morning?"

"The President is taking the air," Babcock indicated the open doorway which led to the President's private quarters. "It's a fine day. Pity this incident has marred the nice weather we're having."

"Indeed," Fish nodded, not feeling the need to exchange any more pleasantries.

Grant himself was on the veranda with his wife. The two of them were basking in the sunlight, the finest day that had been seen in weeks. The President was standing and his wife was sitting.

"Here's Secretary Fish!" Grant's voice carried loud enough to wake the dead. "Come Mrs. Grant, say hello."

Julia Grant squinted at Secretary Fish through her crossed eyes but did not rise.

"How goes the diplomacy?" Grant motioned for Fish to take the seat opposite Mrs. Grant as he withdrew his pipe and a sack of tobacco from his jacket pocket. "Is the party clamoring for war?"

"No sir," Fish said slowly, "in fact, I rather think it advantageous to stop such talk before it gets out of hand…too much division, bitterness."

"Division?" Babcock scoffed. "A war would unite the country!"

"Or tear it apart," Fish countered, keeping his eyes on Grant. It was impossible to read the man.

"I know all about that, gentlemen." President Grant petted his whiskers thoughtfully. "We've already righted a great immorality in our nation by liberating the Negro from bondage. I see no reason to enter hostilities with Spain…especially if the unfortunate incident was orchestrated by an American."

"Who, sir?" Fish demanded, angry to be out of the loop.

"Rhett Butler," Babcock answered for the President. "A privateer from Charleston with more money than God and a paper trail a mile long leading straight to the Cuban rebels."

"Butler," Fish tried out the name. "I vaguely recall the name. I understood him to have many powerful friends in Congress at one point."

"Rebels." Babcock sneered. "No one in our party."

Fish leaned back in his chair. "Am I to understand that this Butler fellow is to be your scapegoat in this scandal?"

"I could show you the evidence," Babcock said coolly. The Pinkerton's have been after Butler for years. Racketeering, land speculation, money laundering…"

"And there are many in this Administration guilty of more than that!" Fish was outraged. "Mr. President, I beg you, this man is being left to hang out to dry for being a Democrat with a bit of cash!"

Grant's gaze was impassive. He was built for living rough, sleeping alongside his men in the heat of battle, not playing this metaphorical chess game that never seemed to cease. If left to his own devices, he would have preferred to leave these types of decisions to men far cleverer than himself; after all, wasn't that what a Cabinet was for?

With great thoughtfulness, the President posed the question which forever cemented a man's status in his own mind: "Was this Butler in the army?"

Babcock obliged with the answer he knew would offend the President the very most. "He was a blockade runner, sir. And he's publicly made statements in the past that his wartime services were solely for profit."

Grant's mouth hardened. "Then its little concern to me if he swings. If I had my way, every privateer would have been shot."

Mrs. Grant spoke for the first time. "Pray tell me, does this man Butler have a family?"

Again Babcock smiled like a dog who has been handed a big juicy bone. "He is married. According to our agents, he is estranged from his wife. She has a reputation among her own people for being quite fast. The pair of them are barely received in polite society."

This piece of information was Butler's death sentence, Fish thought with a fleeting stab of pity for the man he did not even know. Mrs. Grant was a great lady, and like all ladies, had a soft spot for gently-bred folk. If Babcock had said that Mrs. Butler was a sweet little dish with a babe at her breast, Mrs. Grant would have intervened immediately; as it was, she returned her gaze to the newspaper in her hand, confident that the rest of the conversation was not for her ears.

"It would be infinitely helpful to you, Mr. President, if we got on with Butler's trial. We can easily prove that he ordered the load of contraband to Cuba. He's chalk full of Cuban friends who can be…persuaded…to testify against him."

"But is he guilty or isn't he, Mr. Babcock?" Grant asked sharply.

"Sir," Babcock slithered behind the President, his words well rehearsed. "It would behoove us greatly for him to be found guilty. Eight of our citizens are dead, and the people want to know why. They want a face, sir. And they want to read about how we are delivering justice; it makes for more interesting news than the economy."

Grant nodded absently, as he often did when confronted with situations he did not fully understand.

"We have your permission to proceed, sir?" Babcock pushed.

Grant nodded. "Fine. But leave my name out of it."

Secretary Fish interjected. "If I may, Mr. President, I would like to personally see to it that Butler has a fair trial. We certainly don't want to appear too zealous in our prosecution. Southerners look out for their own, let us not forget. I would hate to start something…unfortunate…all because we went after the wrong man."

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><p><strong>AN: Thank you, thank you for all the nice reviews. I'm touched! Please continue reading, reviewing! **


	7. The First Visit

**A/N: As promised, Scarlett's first visit. 1K hits! I'm so glad that so many people are reading. Reviews are great too! (Hint, hint.)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 7: <strong>

As Scarlett tried to sleep in the train car, she noticed that the drizzle outside had turned into a downpour. She had spent the restless night comforting the three children, especially Beau, who had been rather frightened by his father's sudden disappearance and who she wouldn't even have brought if he had not started to wail as she left Aunt Pittypat's house. Beau was finally asleep, she thought grudgingly, smoothing the blonde curls away from the little boy's face. Wade Hampton looked like a little man, his gaze focused on the passing scenery. Ella's head was rested on her brother's shoulder, her body wedged between Wade and the window.

"When will we get to see Uncle Rhett?" Wade asked Scarlett, who shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm not sure, Wade Hampton. Uncle Ashley will be waiting at the station, and he should have some news for us."

Wade nodded stoically, and Scarlett felt a stab of sympathy for him. None of this was his fault, nor Ella's or Beau's. They had not asked to be swept onto a midnight train and taken in a second from the safety of the world they loved. They love it because of Rhett, she told herself, they don't know a world without Rhett's money or his love, even Beau has missed him terribly. What would they do if he was really sentenced to death? What would she do without him?

The train pulled into the station at half past eleven in the morning. Ashley was waiting for them, looking unremarkable and innocent. With little ceremony he shook Wade's hand, hugged Beau, and kissed Ella. The poor little girl was so tired, Ashley picked her up and carried her to the carriage.

"How is he?" Scarlett tugged his arm belligerently.

"I saw him yesterday," Ashley said softly. "Scarlett, he's as defeated looking a creature as I've ever beheld. The guards have not been good to him, in fact, I think they've been rather cruel. He's as thin as I've ever seen him…but his eyes are the worst, Scarlett. His eyes might have faded from some deeper color…"

"Oh Ashley, stop it. I don't want to hear about how bad he looks. We've got to get him out of there. Ashley, won't the Yankees let him go?"

Ashley gave her a look of pity. "Henry tried. He's at flight risk. The new lawyer, Drake, has already seen to it that he's better treated. They were moving him to a more comfortable cell as I left. At the very least he'll have a window."

"Oh Rhett!" Scarlett's heart was breaking. She had to mask her fear for the children though, at least for them. "Did he ask about me, Ashley? Did you tell him that I was coming?"

"Scarlett," Ashley dreaded relaying Rhett's message, but he had promised that he would, even if she hated him for saying it. "Rhett is most reluctant for you to visit him."

"Fiddle-dee-dee. Of course he wants to see me, Ashley. I've come all this way, I'm not just going to turn around."

Ashley sighed heavily. "I warned him that you would say that."

"And what did he say? Tell me the truth, Ashley Wilkes."

Ashley lowered his voice, unable to sweeten his message. "He said that he didn't give a damn what you did."

Scarlett smirked. "Well haven't I heard _that_ before."

The Washington Arsenal where Rhett was being housed was stretched across the large incline of the hilly plateau. The city itself could be viewed in its entirety from the top of the little mountain, a vast vista of houses and other buildings. Nasty, dirty city, Scarlett scoffed to herself as she disembarked from her carriage. Ashley had been so tired she had sent him straight to bed. He and Henry were staying at a boarding house on First Street, and she and the children had let out a hotel room. Henry had let out an awful bellow when she stated her intention to visit Rhett immediately and on her own, calling her an unfit mother and a miserable reprobate. Luckily, the concierge man at the hotel had referred the services of Bridget, an Irish girl who had looked after his own children. Fortunately, she had been available, and was installed as the children's temporary nurse in a little under an hour and Scarlett was triumphantly on her way.

She had to stop about a hundred yards away from the massive gate to announce herself. A line of blue uniforms stood guard at the entrance, their mere presence eating away at her feeling of self-assurance.

"I need to see Captain Rhett Butler, please." Scarlett addressed the friendliest looking one, a fat captain with gap-toothed grin.

So rudely they gawked, Scarlett thought with horror. Their piggy little eyes observing her figure freely, as if she were one of Belle Watling's girls. Damn the Yankees!

"No more visitors today, ma'am. Captain Butler already seen his lawyer today."

"I'm Mrs. Butler," Scarlett began, but then remembered Rhett's command to Ashley. Surely he couldn't refuse to see her? To be safe, she thought up a quick lie. "Rosemary Butler. Rhett's sister. Surely I can see my darling brother?"

The guards looked over her again, apparently deciding that she was no threat to anyone, and the captain called for the sergeant to escort Mrs. Rosemary Butler to her brother's cell. How funny, Scarlett thought, this is no different from the other time I visited him in jail!

The sergeant escorted her to the fifth grey building and stopped at the metal door, tapping on it lightly with the butt of his pistol and announcing loudly that he had a lady wanting to see Captain Butler. The door was opened rather slowly from the inside, and the sergeant gave Scarlett a little push to move her forward.

"Now, now, Mrs.…" the sergeant said kindly. "Don't you be frightened now. You won't have to walk down to the cells. We've got a room for kin to visit."

"But I want to go!" Scarlett cried. "I want to see where Rhett-where my brother is being kept! Please!"

The sergeant sighed, and wordlessly motioned for her to follow him down a steep flight of steps. The smell of human stink filled her nose and she covered her mouth with her handkerchief. To her horror, she noticed a pair of hands sticking out between the bars of one door, palms upward. They continued to walk for what seemed to Scarlett like miles until they came to the end of the hallway. A frail, harassed looking Yankee was standing guard outside the door, which had no bars.

"Captain Butler's sister," the sergeant announced unceremoniously.

"You brought a lady down here?" the little guard sputtered. "Most irregular, Sergeant."

"She asked for it," the sergeant scoffed. "Have a nice visit, Mrs. Butler."

The door opened slowly, and Scarlett vaguely heard the guard speak to Rhett. Only the damp light from the tiny window kept it from being pitch black. Hungrily, her eyes sought him, but her heart sank as they found him. He was seated on a rickety chair in the center of the small cell, the only furniture besides the straw mattress. They had taken away his fine clothes, he wore only an overlarge shirt which might have been white if it hadn't been so filthy. The laces had been removed from his shoes and she thought his ankles looked swollen. His eyes were red and puffy, and his hair was uncombed and fell lazily into his eyes. He had had a shave recently, Scarlett noticed, thinking that it was probably at the request of his lawyer or Ashley or Uncle Henry. The slamming shut of the door by the guard broke the silence, and Scarlett fixed Rhett with her green eyes.

"Rhett!" she shrilled.

Rhett gazed at Scarlett with an expression of intense dislike, loathing even.

"Scarlett, my dear little sister."

Scarlett looked at his face, turned white, and looked away. Rhett's eyes continued to stare, but she could read nothing within their empty depths.

"You made a mistake in coming here, my pet." Rhett said dully.

"But Rhett! I had to come. I _had _to!" she said the last empathetically, falling to her knees and burying her face in his lap.

She felt the heat of his body in response to her touch, so she began to caress his hands. To her horror, she quickly felt the cold iron manacles.

"They can't have you in chains!" she cried.

He shrugged, his eyes still owning a penetrating gleam, as if he were attempting to read her.

"Well my dear, my time is valuable. What is it you want?"

"I want to get you out of here!" she shrilled, kissing his hands, emboldened by the involuntary response she detected in his body. "When I found out about it I was so scared, I came right away and-"

The hurt look in his eyes silenced her. "The loss of my money must have been quite tragic for you."

"Oh Rhett, it doesn't matter. It'll all be the same when this is cleared up, they'll have to give the money back then."

Rhett laughed hollowly. "Do they? Are you so confident that I'm innocent, my pet? Or have you even bothered to find out what I'm accused of?"

"It doesn't matter!" she protested. "Whatever it is, we'll fight it. All that matters is you're not alone."

The bloodshot veins in Rhett's eyes swelled. "Men that can't help themselves are not deserving of sympathy, Scarlett."

He's baiting me, she thought to herself, he thinks that if he digs deep enough he'll get me to say something nasty to him. "You've always helped yourself plenty, Rhett. Now let me help you, if I can."

He graced her with his typical ironical smile. To annoy her, he began to look her over thoroughly. His eyes were blazing inky orbs and his mouth was fixed into a scowl.

"Shut your mouth. You hear me? No more out of your mouth. What's done is done, Scarlett. Our marriage, the life we shared together, and indeed Scarlett, if Uncle Sam has his way, I finally get make the ultimate reparation for my multitude of sins."

Scarlett paled visibly. "You will not, Rhett! I won't let you! You must have known that I didn't travel all the way here to see you hanged."

"I understood the general idea, Scarlett. Unfortunately, my dear, you have wasted your time. I apologize if you have money invested in this little intervention. I must say, I would have expected a better business decision out of you."

"Well, if you've got the general idea, I suppose I can leave."

"I implore you to do so, Scarlett. And please don't come back."

Scarlett smirked slightly as she turned to go, recalling something that Rhett had said to her long ago. "But I will come back, Rhett. You know I will."


	8. The Will to Live

**A/N: I've been slacking on this story, but thank you to all the nice folks who've reviewed. Reviews really do make my day, not to mention give me inspiration! This is a super fun story to write, and it's a treat for a history major to stick her favorite literary characters into historical events… This is a short update, but never fear, the action will commence soon! First of all, Rhett needed to get his thoughts in order…**

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><p><strong>Chapter 8:<strong>

Rhett Butler folded into the chair he was gradually molding to his own shape and looked out the window of his cell. His view spanned about fifteen feet into another window framed by blackened red brick. He tried to count the bricks, and made it up to seventeen or so, but then paused, for thoughts of Scarlett intruded into his mind as she herself had intruded into his cell. Damn her, he thought. There were plenty of other women in his acquaintance whom he could picture in his mind if he tried hard enough, better looking and kinder ones too; but Scarlett's image still won out. Of all the women in the entire South, no, the whole goddamned world, he had had to cast his lot with that woman!

He laid down on the straw mattress and attempted to clear his mind, but Scarlett wouldn't leave. She looked provoked in his mind, much the same as she had looked in the flesh. He had wondered how long she was going to stand there holding his hands, torturing him with her presence. The thought of her made his eyes feel as taut as his throat; he wondered if she was at all cognizant of the hold she had over him. He cursed his leaking eyes, hoping against hope that she hadn't seen. The last thing he wanted was her sympathy, and yet, she had not looked all that sorry for him. Even more surprising was that she had not looked that sorry for herself, either. Damn her! If she just would have just stayed at Tara and not be so taken up in the chase.

He wondered what she had thought about his accommodations, dirty and dead as they were. He looked around, still lying in the middle of the room, at the rows and rows of blackened-red and grey bricks. He remembered being dazed by it the first week, and he wondered where he would be if he were still confined in the darkness without a window. One night, he had dreamed about Scarlett, or perhaps he had merely recalled her old nightmare; he was running, not through the mists as she had been, but down the stairs of the Atlanta house, which in his dream were never-ending. He saw Scarlett falling, falling, and he was powerless to stop it. He finally reached the end of the stairs-and there was nothing at all there but blackness, an apt metaphor for the folly that was his married life.

Rhett sighed audibly, recalling that none of his present circumstances were the fault of Scarlett at all and furthermore, she had not been forced to come. She could have just asked Henry Hamilton to look in on him as a personal favor; the old man would have been glad for a reason to get out of town and he owed Rhett his life, besides. But she _had _come. She could have just said, well, he asked for it; but she hadn't! He would have been glad for her to dispose of any sense of duty she had felt towards him, but yet, she remained. She could have kept the money she had saved so doggedly before their marriage, but she had fetched him a decent lawyer with it. And she needed it much more than he did!

This was the woman he had told to go to Halifax. This was the woman he had forsaken-he must have been sick with grief when he did it! He had been sick and she had been crazed, and after all the years of cat and mouse, he had wrangled a declaration of love out of her and then spurned her. He had left the Atlanta house that day with the long overdue conviction that he had been cured of his mad obsession with Scarlett. It had festered inside of him long enough; and he was now able to sever ties with her completely, and in good conscience. But the nagging feeling of guilt had snuck up on him the moment he had stepped out the door. There wasn't another woman in the world like her, and he had loved her since the moment he had laid eyes on her, even when he had meant nothing at all to her.

A knot formed in his throat as he thought of Bonnie. He had no business thinking of her, no business at all, for she was dead and buried and his heart along with her. Let them put me in the ground, his weary soul cried out, I don't want to live in a world without her.

But you still have Scarlett, you fool, not to mention Wade and Ella! And he _did _want to live; it had never been in his nature to lay down and die. That sort of gentlemanly conduct was for beings like the noble Wilkes or his own not so dearly departed father. Rhett's throat was drawn tightly as he looked out the window. He'd been in desperate situations before, and he'd survive this. That damn lawyer was supposed to be coming back today, and he was finally ready to tell his side of the story…


	9. An Anonymous Benefactor

**Chapter 9:**

That morning, Scarlett knew as soon as she woke up that today the person who could help her was going to appear. She knew instinctively that Rhett loved her and she loved him; her enthusiasm knew no bounds.

At two o'clock in the afternoon, she greeted the second-shift guards. Their blue uniforms were as repugnant to her eyes as ever; they all wore them, the navy coats with yellow piping on the neck and sleeves and a yellow stripe down the outside of each leg. Their faces were nondescript and vague, each seemingly disappearing into the ugliness of that cruel blue uniform. The gate by which they were standing was made of iron bars, and the concrete arch that held it looked to Scarlett like two big trees, their branches curved into boldly twisted letters that said, WASHINGTON ARSENAL.

"You ain't but fifteen minutes late, Missus. But we ain't allowed to let you in. Captain Butler's lawyer's meetin' with him now, so you'll have to wait here."

"Then I'll stay," Scarlett said irritably. How dare they not have sent her a note stating their intentions to meet with Rhett? After all, she was his wife _and _she had hired the damn lawyer in the first place. With a heavy sigh, she reentered the carriage so as not to be subjected to the leering guards any longer than absolutely necessary. After several minutes, one of the more forward of their number leaned against her carriage door, earning himself a reprove from her driver.

"No loitering on Federal property," the guard retorted.

Scarlett opened the carriage door from the inside and hesitantly stuck her head out. The guard who had spoken was even uglier than the last one, with a jutting jaw and a shale-textured face.

"Ever' day," her black coachman was complaining, "like t' be another wait. This here lady just wan' see huh husband."

"I don't care if she's the Queen of England and he's the Emperor of China; ain't no more than three visitors at a time."

"Ashley!" Scarlett whispered and before the guard could rest his eyes properly on the woman, she had bolted toward the gate, where a haggard looking man was being escorted out by the sergeant at arms.

"Wait on me!" she called back to her coachman, perched in the driver's seat all sour and froglike and ready to depart.

"Well," Ashley said, "How are you this afternoon, Scarlett?"

"I'd be a lot better if you and Henry had told me you were coming."

"Rhett wanted to meet with Henry and Drake in private. Apparently, he's only now decided to tell them what he knows about it all. I wondered if that might be your doing?"

Scarlett blushed slightly, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean. But in any case, are you done now? May I see him?"

"They won't be done for several hours, Scarlett. It's all very complicated, far over my head…Henry's too, I should think, but at least he knows the law. Come on, Scarlett, let's go." He gripped her arm and Scarlett shook him off.

"I want to see him!"

Ashley wet his pale, dry lips. "Get into the carriage, Scarlett."

"Ashley, whatever's the…" Scarlett's voice trailed off as she remembered the leering Yankees.

"I'll tell you, when we're in the carriage." Ashley muttered to Scarlett then addressed the coachman. "Just drive straight back to town and I'll tell you where to stop."

"Yessir." the coachman said, happy to be on the way.

"I don't want to see anything you have to show me," Scarlett complained as they pulled away. "I want to see Rhett."

Ashley didn't look at her; instead, he fixed his gaze out the window.

"Well?" Scarlett pressed. "What is it you wanted to tell me?"

Ashley contemplated how best to sell his proposal to her; he had a dozen or more pretty words stockpiled within his head from a bygone era of gentlemanly rearing, and yet, he knew Scarlett to be a woman who appreciated frank speech.

"I think that you and the children should leave." Ashley murmured. "Before you raise Hell, Scarlett, do listen to me for a moment. Rhett is not being held in the deepest darkest depths of the nation's most secure prison for a regulatory offense. He's accused of treason, Scarlett. Treason and espionage and murder; my God, the newspaper said just today that the Spanish want to declare war on us because of his actions!"

Scarlett's face was stony, although he could tell that something inside of her was winding up. Ashley knew to hurry, so he continued.

"There is absolutely nothing that you can do here, Scarlett. Nothing at all. Your visit meant the world to Rhett, I'm sure…"

"If you were sure, then I hardly think that you'd be saying what's coming out of your mouth, Ashley."

Ashley watched her carefully. "This town is cruel, Scarlett, crueler than Atlanta by far. He'll be tried in a court of law as well as the court of public opinion, and if you're here, you'll enable the press to drag you into it as well."

"Let them! God's nightgown, Ashley, you act as though I'm his mistress rather than his wife!"

A pained look appeared upon Ashley's face, and he waited a few minutes before continuing.

"I gather that you've changed somewhat, since our last conversation."

"Which conversation is that, Ashley? I do believe that we spoke last night over dinner, and I recall nothing untoward occurring." Of course she recalled the conversation he meant in an instant-the day of his surprise birthday, when India and Mrs. Elsing and that rat, Archie, had caught them in each other's arms.

"A lot has happened since that day, Ashley," Scarlett said softly. "I lost two children, and you lost a wife and I lost a sister. But I won't lose Rhett. I won't, Ashley. I won't!"

Ashley looked woodenly at the woman sitting next to him. Her face was a patchwork of defiance and fear and her eyes, the color of emeralds, were red-rimmed and swollen; and yet, she was as bland and composed as he had ever seen her. Ashley felt helpless, as though he had just been corrected in a simple matter by a small child. His second thought was more relevant, and he dutifully took one of her small hands in his own and patted it tenderly.

"Then I shall endeavor to help in whatever way I possibly can, my dear."

Scarlett raised her head and met his eyes. "Thank you, Ashley. You've always been a dear friend."

At the National Hotel, young Wade Hampton Hamilton withdrew to the side of the window and with his head between the wall and the curtain he looked down upon the street where the carriage had stopped. His mother and his Uncle Ashley were getting out of it. His uncle's long legs slid out first, then the rest of him. His mother emerged slowly, with an ominous intensity. An intense pain gripped the boy's throat. He loved his mother, and not just out of a sense of duty. It was in his nature to love and Aunt Melly had assured him that his mother did indeed love him; but the boy had difficulty enduring the kind of love which his mother bestowed upon him. He felt a certain burning sensation, combined with moisture behind his eyes. Wiping them resolutely, he peered out the doorway and listened for the sound of footsteps coming up the stairwell. His mother's laugh shot up from below, and his heart sank.

It was the first time in his eleven years that he had been out of Georgia, and it had been up to him to pack their trunks, his, Ella's, and Beau's, and now to watch over them, as he was the eldest. He had had no idea what to bring, and he disliked to pack; he needed his books of course, and he could not bear to ride in trains. But his mother, with her daredevil nature, had figured that she herself could help, and she had told them that not only did they have to go along but that they had to stay there until Uncle Rhett's name had been cleared and they could go home.

Although his mother was sparing with the details, Wade was old enough to read the newspaper. A complementary copy was placed daily outside the door of their hotel room, and the morning's headline heralded, in large bold letters, THE RHETT BUTLER AFFAIR. Wade glanced at the picture underneath the headline. It showed the face of a shrewd looking pirate; but upon closer inspection, he realized that it was indeed his Uncle Rhett. He didn't recognize some of the foreign sounding names in the text of the article, but he did know the meaning of espionage, and treason, and hanging; those words were unequivocal. His mother's laughter rang upward a second time and Wade winced. How could she laugh when Uncle Rhett was in so much trouble?

Beau gave a low moan in his sleep, then was quiet again. Ella lay on the other bed, her thumb resting comfortably in her mouth. It wouldn't be so bad to have Beau as a brother, Wade attempted to rationalize the situation; Beau practically _was_ a brother to them both anyway, and Aunt Melly was gone and soon Uncle Rhett would be too…

He glanced across the room and into the small, oval-framed mirror on the wall. His eyes looked paler than he remembered them being; perhaps he had expected a horrible vision to appear in reprisal for such thoughts. He formed a frail defense within his mind to prepare his body for what was coming. If Ashley walked up the stairs with his mother, there could be no doubt as to their intentions…

In a moment, his mother opened the door and tiptoed in.

"Good," she whispered, glancing at Ella and Beau. "I'm glad they're sleeping."

She closed the door behind her gently and removed her dainty hat. Her face was like a painting: the Irishness of her jaw, her apple cheeks and her feline eyes, intimate but untouchable.

He steadied himself, his chronic shyness temporarily overcome by both his fear and his outrage. "I thought that you were going to see Uncle Rhett."

"I did," she hissed. "I wasn't allowed in today, if it's any of your business." She softened as he visibly wilted at her stern words, and she moved to stroke his cheek tenderly. He hated when she did it; for in her touch was none of Aunt Melly's gentle sweetness. It was as if in every one of his mother's movements lurked a propensity to mock virtuous and maternal qualities to the point where anyone even remotely virtuous and maternal ended up looking like a fool.

His mother shook her head empathically, her eyes fixed upon him.

"Whatever is the matter with you, Wade Hampton?"

Exasperation blocked his windpipe, and he felt incapable of addressing her. "Is Uncle Ashley…" he croaked, "are you and Uncle Ashley…?"

"You too?" she murmured gently, with no trace of malice in her voice. She wrapped her arms around his thin shoulders and kissed the top of his head. When she began to sob, Wade felt a deep loathing for himself for burdening her. But she had never held him thus…he didn't want her to let go, so he remained still.

"You don't need to worry about Uncle Ashley. I promise you that." She then began to tell him about the horrible state Uncle Rhett was in, how she was doing everything she could to help him, and Uncle Ashley was too. Wade could tell that his mother had seen firsthand, and had not been spared the details she was now sparing him. As she spoke, her voice quivered, and he could tell that she was remembering some horror, past or present.

He stroked her back in a futile attempt at providing gentlemanly comfort. He had rarely seen her cry, and when she did, Wade truly mourned the death of the father he had never knew, and of Mr. Frank, Ella's father; instinctively, he had recognized that he was now the man of the family, in Uncle Rhett's absence, and he hoped that the mantle was a temporary one.

Wade's face was contracted with pain as his mother released him and wiped her eyes with her lace handkerchief. "Mother," he asked hesitantly, "are the Yankees going to hang Uncle Rhett?"

"No!" she said firmly. "No, Wade Hampton. We aren't going to let them."

To his pleasure, she began to look upon _him_ with new compassion, her eyes shining.

"There's just got to be something that we can do," she said, and Wade wondered if she was speaking to him or to herself. "If I could only remember more from our trip to New Orleans…some of the people he mentioned. Ashley thinks that he must have gotten involved with some unsavory character and now he's being punished…"

A look of obscure determination was written upon his mother's face, and Wade remained silent.

A loud knock upon their door startled them both, and caused Ella to jerk up suddenly in bed. His mother opened the door and peered out apprehensively.

"Madam," the thin-lipped gentleman from the front desk stood at the threshold, a small envelope clutched in his hand. He leaned forward, as if he were about to hand over something distasteful to someone equally thus. Perhaps he had recognized her surname from the newspaper headlines.

"Thank you," his mother said in a clipped tone before closing the door in the man's face.

Backed by Wade, she sat down on the edge of Ella's bed and hurriedly tore into the correspondence. Ella stretched and declared abruptly, "I'm hungry!"

"Later," Wade hissed. "Mother? Is it about Uncle Rhett?"

She nodded fiercely, her eyes taking in the letter's contents. "Wade Hampton?" she said after perusing it to her satisfaction, "will you watch Ella and Beau? Mother has to do something."

Wade nodded emphatically as she wordlessly floated out the door, stopping only to retrieve the hat she had thrown to floor upon her entry.

"What did it say, Wade?" Ella wondered aloud.

Wade's eyes were already devouring the short note; he noted the fine stationary on which it had been penned, and deduced that it had come from someone in the government by the insignia on the bottom of the page.

It was a man's scrawl, hastily written:

_If you want to save your husband's life, you'll need to locate his attorney. More instructions will follow._


	10. The Stakes Are Raised

**Chapter 10:**

The air was clear and blank, the mid-afternoon sun like a furious white blister in the sky. Scarlett stood for the second time that day at the gate of the Arsenal and looked down into the pit of the gravel drive while Ashley attempted to gain her entry. The guard's voice was taking on a kind of unrestrained fury as he railed about how much trouble women were. He discussed the matter with his superior, while Scarlett and Ashley stood to the side. It was plain to the soldier that neither one of these Georgians had any sense, particularly Captain Butler's wife.

The gentleman, Wilkes, was not even a family member, yet the captain could not allow Mrs. Butler to see her husband unescorted. And his men were another story! They had stood at the gate, staring at Mrs. Butler and rolling their tongues outside their mouths as though none of them possessed any sense either. This had not been the first time they had seen the beautiful woman, and clearly it would not be the last. "Idiots act like they ain't never seen a woman before," the captain murmured. "Lord help me, but I ain't never seen eyes that color neither, no sir."

"Whyn't you just get on with it, Sergeant?" the captain finally said after thinking about the matter at length. "It makes no difference to me if she wants to see him."

Scarlett walked tall through the mass of metal and concrete and brick speckled with the leering eyes of the soldiers. The glitter of her own eyes was shaded by her stiff grey hat, balanced perfectly straight upon her head. Their eyes grabbed at her, and her head involuntarily jerked backwards after each passing figure. Several of them bumped into her, then shoved on with ducked heads and muttered apologies. This place is evil, she thought. Her lids narrowed with caution, and she looked at the Sergeant who was rolling ahead of her.

"Hurry up, ma'am," he hissed. "Your husband's down that hallway. First door on the left side after you round the corridor."

Scarlett thrust her head forward and did not stop. She paled slightly and her gaze shifted as she found the appropriate door, which was slightly ajar.

Rhett was in an argument with the lawyer, both hitting the desk that separated them, bending their knees and hitting their fists at the same time. The lawyer, a big, tall, dome-headed man with a beaky nose kept repeating in a restrained growl, "But I didn't write the order. And I didn't break the law," and then Uncle Henry's gravelly voice grated, "It just doesn't make sense, Rhett. That's all Mr. Drake is saying. He didn't intend to advise you to lay down and die."

"You said that you were competent!" Rhett's voice was bellowing. "Now I see what kind of lawyer you are. Nothing but a yellow-bellied coward!"

"You can holler all you want, son, but I'm the best game in town. If you want new counsel, I'll leave Mr. Hamilton here with you and be about my own business."

"Rhett," Uncle Henry interjected softly. "Calm down. Listen here, if what you've told us is true, why didn't you just explain it all to the authorities when you were arraigned?"

"They had records for every goddamn transaction I ever made. I told you already, Henry. I bought that ship before the war and it sat in port at Charleston for six years along with all my other vessels. Last year, Jacobs told me that there were all sorts of interested buyers since the government has all their shipbuilders engaged in the new ironclads."

"Jacobs, the lawyer?" Henry clarified.

"Yes, yes. Anyway, I told him to take care of it and he sold all six. The Virginia went to a gentleman out of New York, if I remember correctly."

"And you have no record at all that this transaction occurred?"

"Of course not!" Rhett knelt down and held his face in his hands. "There's nothing you can do. You're just wasting your time and mine. You might as well resign yourself to it as well."

The lawyer closed his eyes and smiled into one cheek. "Well, we ain't finished here, but I got a sense that this conversation is no longer a private one."

"My Lord!" Henry groaned, jumping up from his chair. "Surely even the Yankees value attorney-client confidentiality!"

The lawyer strode toward the door with his head thrust forward as if he were smelling out an enemy. He peeked out the crack in the door and winked at Scarlett. "Well, if it ain't the prettiest Yankee I ever did see! Alright Hamilton, we're finished for the day. "

Rhett clamped his teeth together to keep them from chattering. The lawyer let the door swing open, revealing Scarlett standing in it with her mouth hung in a silly smile.

"Haven't you got any sense, Scarlett?" Henry muttered aloud. "What's the matter with you, coming here on your own?"

"Come on, Hamilton," Drake said, collecting his briefcase. "And close the door tight behind you, will you?"

As the two men left, Rhett stood up. He moved rigidly toward her, his heavy shoulders hunched as if he were going to crash through her. He stared at her, his lips parting slowly until his mouth hung open, as though he beheld some unfathomable mystery. Suddenly, a tremendous wave of emotion seized Rhett. He eyed the white face of his wife and searched his mind fiercely for the right words. Finally, he said in a slow emphatic voice, "You came back."

Scarlett's mouth was agape. "Of course I came back. Just like I told you I would."

Could she love him, even now?

His eyes moved to her mouth. The instant his lips pressed against hers, the passion which had lay dormant inside of him since the day she had asked for separate bedrooms exploded into a mindless, all-consuming bliss. He could feel her responding to his touch as he tightened his grip on her waist. She wrapped her arms around his neck, stirring him to the very core. It was more than a kiss, far beyond it; the raw desire for her coupled with his fervent desire to live.

"Where are the children?" Rhett asked, looking around suddenly as though he had just thought of them.

Scarlett thought that her husband looked more magnificent than ever, with his black hair wildly disheveled and the beginnings of a beard forming on his face. He was breathing hard and his muscles were bunched tight. God, but she loved him.

"They're here, of course. They're at the hotel, and oh Rhett, they're so very worried. We all have been, oh my darling!"

Rhett's head was swirling with excitement. She was there, and she cared…perhaps she even loved him? It made his predicament seem rather small, yet infinitely more tragic. But that kiss. He could live on that the rest of his life, if he had to.

He took her hands and began to feel as though he was just meeting her for the first time, as if as long as he had known her, he had been deprived of her own acquaintance. This Scarlett was not the woman he married, the heartless girl who had cheated and lied to him; this was a woman who had been willing to risk everything for the man she loved…and that man was him.

"I'm so sorry, Scarlett! For that last day, for leaving! I was so drained, Scarlett. First Bonnie then Miss Melly. I couldn't handle it all, and I'm sorry that I hurt you and left Wade and Ella to face it all alone and if I get out of here, so help me God, I will spend my life making it up to them."

"We're going to get you out of here, Rhett." Scarlett said fervently. "You're not going to let them lick you, you hear? Besides, someone's looking out for you…" Hurriedly she told him about the note she had received.

"The truth is," he said after a minute, "The truth is that he is nowhere to be found. Because he has connections in Cuba-his wife for one-and they'll tell the local authorities that he's been there all this time." After a pause he continued, "The way I see it, I can do one of two things to try to help myself. There is a senator from South Carolina who is a cousin of mine. Of course, he's not spoken to me in years, but blood may still count for something. The other is attempting to get in touch with Belle. Jacobs has an interest in her place, and she might have a contact for him."

"I'll send her a wire tonight!"

"No, no, Scarlett. Silly girl. The government will have men monitoring any communication you put out. Does the name Pinkerton mean anything to you?"

"Of course not, why?"

"I didn't think so, my ignorant little wife."

She flashed him a dirty look and then said in a triumphant voice.

"I'll ask Ashley to go!"

"To Belle's?" he said in an incredulous tone. "Although it gives me great satisfaction to envision dear Ashley in Belle's house, I doubt that she'd tell him anything, even if he asked."

"She would if it meant helping you!" Scarlett said. "I know, I've spoken with her already!" She decided not to mention that she'd borrowed money from the woman.

"You did?"

"Yes," Scarlett bristled. "We spoke for several minutes."

"Time's up," a stern-faced man entered the room. He wore a dark suit and his face was partly hidden under his hat. Two other similarly garbed men were standing guard outside the door.

"You don't just walk in here like that!" Rhett growled, standing in front of Scarlett protectively.

"We have some more questions for you, Captain Butler," the man said. "If you don't mind, Mrs. Butler, visiting hours are over."

"I wasn't aware of any set hours," Scarlett said testily.

The man had a wide mouth and he spoke out of the side of it. "Guard!"

Scarlett saw a soldier coming down the hallway.

"No need," she said shakily, with one last lingering glance at Rhett, whose face had a sour composed look.

After she had been escorted out, Rhett glanced at the three agents, who stood in a circle around him.

"What do you want?" he snarled.

"I want to know who your wife's been talking to." The men stood looking at Rhett. "Someone in Congress? Or in White House, perhaps?"

Rhett shrugged. "No idea."

"That's a shame. Your wife is a beautiful woman. And your children…"

"Are you threatening them?" he said in a controlled roar.

"You don't find a woman like that every day," the agent said. "Nope. It would be a shame, if she were to get herself implicated in a scandal of your making. And mark my words, Captain Butler, if she's up to something, she'll be discovered and tried along with you. No? Oh well. Come on boys. Soldier! Captain Butler needs to be shown back to his cell."

The agents slammed the door behind them and left Rhett standing there, an expression of horror on his face.

* * *

><p><strong>AN-Glad everyone is still reading, liking, etc...**

**Anyone have a guess as to the identity of Scarlett's anonymous tipster?**


	11. The Downfall of Belle Watling

**Chapter 11:**

Belle Watling turned and looked at the man and an unpleasant sensation that she could not place came over her. She recognized him on sight; there was no possible way one could forget the pale, lean, waspy-looking man with deep hollows under his cheekbones and eyes set between them like two bright nails. He wore a black suit and a panama hat, rather in the style of Rhett, but not nearly so put together. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead from underneath his pushed-back hat. After she had watched him for a few moments, she leaned up behind the man and tapped him on the shoulder.

He turned in his seat at the card table and gave Belle a long, personal look. "How you been, Belle?"

"Fine," Belle replied, her voice cracked with dryness. "Mister Jacobs, could I have a minute alone?"

The man shrugged and pinched the rear of the girl who had been resting comfortably on his lap. "I'll be back directly, sweet thing."

Belle scrambled into her personal quarters with the man tailing her and motioned for her Negro to shut it tight behind them.

"You need something, Belle?" the man said.

"I just was wonderin' if you'd had any word from Rhett."

The man said nothing for about sixty seconds; Belle noted a stale, sweet odor in the room and there did not seem to be enough air to breath freely. The man put his hand in the pocket of his shirt and brought out a silver case. He snapped it open and passed it over to Belle. "Smoke?" he offered.

She only looked at him.

"Special, these," the man said, continuing to hold out the case. "Havana's finest. You won't find any of these here in Atlanta."

The man withdrew one cigar and hung it out the corner of his mouth, then produced a silver lighter and lit it. The smoke filled the room instantly, letting out a peculiar aroma.

"You have anything to drink, Belle?" the man said out the side of his mouth.

Wordlessly, she reached across the bed and into a chest of drawers. Inside was a silver flask laying on its side.

"Help yerself," Belle said as she handed it to the man.

He drank deeply, then addressed her. "I know that you've been acquainted with Rhett as long as I have, but I think that of the two of us, I have the better measure of him. He's always been able to exploit the talents of others for his own gain, and we've both been the beneficiaries of his generosity, have we not? And he's spent the past few years making himself outwardly respectable, living his lie by gesture, deigning to tell no one of his true dealings."

"I don't see yer meaning," Belle drew her breath. Her thin eyebrows had drawn together ominously underneath her red bangs and into the bridge of her nose.

"Do you recall a man named William Walker, Belle? He was a friend of Rhett's and I admired him very deeply myself. He endeavored to create his own little dictatorships in Central America, and damn near succeeded. Unfortunately, he bit off more than he could chew, and took on a company called Accessory Transit for control of the trade routes in Nicaragua. If I told you what kind of money was involved, it'd make your head spin. Well, a similar political climate is developing in Cuba as we speak, and the rebels want the U.S. government to help them overthrow their Spanish overlords. Now obviously, we're supposed to be neutral…so, when they discovered the Virginia laden down with contraband and rebel correspondence…well honey, that looks a hell of a lot like a filibuster to them. Let me put it simply for you: it looks mighty bad for our friend Rhett."

Belle continued to hold her face, shaking her head slightly. "But it don't make no sense! Rhett ain't even been thinking straight over the past couple months. He ain't planning anything like that! And that still don't explain why you ain't up there in Washington tryin' to help. Yer supposed to be his lawyer, ain't you? I'd be up there myself if I thought I could do something."

Jacobs laughed. "You're a silly thing, Belle. And you're still a damned handsome woman."

She stiffened. "No, thanks."

He opened his mouth silently, showing no sign of comprehension.

"I'll call for someone," she said, in a tone of subtle accusation.

"But I'm set on having you. Make it easy on yourself, Belle."

Belle's face had a look of stunned outrage as he approached her.

"Make a sound…" he pulled a silver handled revolver out of his coat pocket and cocked it. "But if you're good to me, then I'll make things lots easier for our beloved Rhett. I've got papers that prove his innocence, and I can send them to the right people. You know, I've heard that they actually want to hang him!"

Belle's mouth opened and she made two or three dry little sounds, then after a minute, her voice wavered and she submitted to his kisses, then closed her eyes as he plunged lower with insinuations of passions to be satisfied. She wanted to lunge up and claw his eyes out and scream bloody murder, but she contented herself with small, tragic sighs. If it would save Rhett, she would willingly sell her soul…and she'd been selling her body for as long as she could remember. They're all the same, she thought, it's always been like this. Then, she fell back onto her own bed, as though she felt no more.

The next morning, the lawyer, Jacobs, appeared at the National, his brow lowered and the thrust of his jaw indicating that he was in a dangerous mood. He sought out the constable, who was enjoying his breakfast with the deputy in the communal dining area.

"Listen here," the man whispered. "I have something to say to you about Belle Watling's sporting house and I don't intend to say it but once…" his voice was lowered as he fed the man his cleverly crafted tale, which must have been highly believable, as the constable abandoned his meal and instantly made off for the hated Watling woman's house. He had been looking for a way to shut her down for years, and here this stranger had finally given him the means to do it.

"Call the sheriff too," the constable told his deputy, "I'll need a warrant to go there and pick her up."

When they arrived, they found Belle Watling slumped spread-eagle against the banister on the front steps of her house. There was nothing about her stiff figure to indicate that she was there for any other reason save a gross display of public intoxication. She was carrying on a drunken conversation with herself in a low, personal tone. A streak of lipstick ran up one side of her cheek. She allowed the sheriff to handcuff her and guide her down the street, apparently not noticing the leers of curious onlookers as they stopped their business to stare at her.

"Put the whore in jail, Sheriff!" one of the braver voices piped up.

"Shame of Atlanta!"

"She don't need jail, she needs a hospital!"

"Can't take a drunken whore to a hospital!"

"Bunch of goddamned pissants," Belle Watling said in a furious whisper, then slumped onto the sheriff's shoulder, apparently too drunk to walk any further.


	12. A Not So Warm Reception

**Chapter 12**

Scarlett walked the five blocks from her hotel and came after a few minutes to the commercial section, which had the courthouse as its center. The sun beat down fiercely although there was enough of a breeze in the air to set the flags a-flapping. They were on every street corner, the Stars and Stripes, as if the city existed for no other purpose but to remind her of who and what held Rhett prisoner.

She had put Ashley on the first available outbound train to Atlanta, with the intention of interviewing Belle Watling about the mysteriously absent Mr. Jacobs, and she had expected that he would return within the week with some bit of information that would vindicate Rhett from the capitol offenses and mitigate his guilt in any lesser ones. As soon as she had seen Rhett's picture in the paper, the face if her beloved coupled with the words "hanging" and "imminent", her imagination began to burn like a brightly liberating star. The very next morning after she had been so rudely expelled from the Arsenal, she had wired Rhett's cousin the senator, and then, having received no response, had packed the children into a carriage and had them at the senator's house in a little short of an hour.

On the quiet, shaded street where the senator resided, she noticed that all of the neighbors were staring avidly at her with a kind of languid reverence…or was it contempt? The houses formed a dark, jagged wall against the colorless street. They were all alike, possessing no innate grace or beauty, just languishing in the quiet neighborhood along with the citizens who dwelled within them. A mysterious dread filled Scarlett as she located the address she had sought, and she half-turned to run.

With the purpose for her visit set firmly in her mind, Scarlett took Ella's and Beau's hands and walked up the drive, Wade following behind her. She released the two younger children in order to grab hold of the cold knocker. A large black face filled the glass panel on the right side of the door, and the sturdy looking colored woman opened it grudgingly. The maid stood absolutely still, as if she thought that by looking at them long enough, they would certainly disappear.

"I need to see Senator Butler," Scarlett found her voice. "As soon as possible, if you please."

The woman did not seem to understand the significance of her statement, then looked down at the children then back at Scarlett impatiently.

"He ain't here," the woman growled. "Only his mamma at home."

"I'll wait," Scarlett declared, but the woman only shook her head, then backed up inside the house and slammed the door in Scarlett's face.

"I thought Uncle Rhett didn't get on with his people, Mother," Wade questioned wearily.

"Well, I can sure see why!" Beau piped up. "She was awfully rude."

"Well," Scarlett shrugged, "we haven't any other option, have we?" She stared at the door boldly, as if hardening herself for an encounter. She grabbed the knocker and began beating the door as if it were her own personal enemy. She was aware of nothing, save for making the most racket as she possibly could.

Finally, there was a click and the knob turned.

The woman who answered was about seventy and post deaf, and she plugged something into her ear. She fixed Scarlett with two steel grey eyes and then seized Ella by the arm, scrutinizing her.

"No. Too small. I told that damn children's home that I wanted a bigger girl for a kitchen maid, not these starved little scarecrows they've been sending. I'm not interested in boys either. Worthless lollygaggers all of them; never of any use."

Scarlett cleared her throat nervously as she grasped Ella's hand and pulled her child toward her. "I apologize for the…misunderstanding…I'm not from the children's home. This is my son and daughter and nephew, and my name is Scarlett Butler. I hail from Atlanta and I was hoping to see Senator Butler, if at all possible."

The woman's small, drill-like eyes penetrated Scarlett's own, and she was forced to lower her gaze.

"I suppose you're here about that goddamned nephew of mine. Scalawag! Serves him right what's happened."

Scarlett was torn between expressing shock at the woman's foul mouth or letting out her own expletive in Rhett's defense. Instead, she cleared her throat loudly and said simply, "I take it you are my husband's aunt," though a perceptible trace of scorn crossed her face.

The straight line of the old woman's mouth slowly turned into a smile. "I hope he gets hisself hanged. How'd they get him here, in a chariot of fire? Proud as the devil, he was as a boy! Always has been! I hope he gets what's comin' his way."

"Now see here!" Scarlett said, suddenly breathless. "I came here for help, but if you're just going to throw insults at me, I might as well leave."

Although the old woman looked as if she'd be glad if that very thing happened, she had already determined that she dealt with an interesting lady, this Scarlett character. Her expression changed again.

"I'd say you best come back after the ball tonight, if you want to talk to my son. 'Course, he'll be hobnobbing with all the society folk for all hours. On second thought, he won't thank me for spoiling his night, Missy. Go on there and see him for yourself."

Scarlett's green eyes began to burn within her fierce, fragile face. "Where is it? Where do I need to go?"

The old woman laughed loudly, as though she were enjoying the exchange immensely. "Pity I'm too old and full of mischief to be invited. I'd dearly like to see this play out."

"Tell me where it is, you old fool!" Scarlett ordered with new energy.

"The White House," the old woman sneered. "Think you'll have trouble finding it?"

Scarlett was not looking at the woman. Her neck was suddenly snapped forward and she was staring directly over the old woman's shoulder.

The woman put a claw-like hand on Scarlett's arm in an attempt to penetrate her inattention. "Look here, girl. You got more nerve than most women coming here with these little children. But you won't save my nephew. Not a chance. He's lived a long and useless life and he did you a great injustice by marrying you and dragging you in his dirt along with him. It'll be a blessing for you as well as the rest of us when the Yankees do hang him. It's a perfect irony that his dear friends will take care of him in that way. Yes, a perfect irony!" Her old eyes were alight with pleasure. "It's not too late for you, Missy. Get home to Georgia or wherever it is you hail from and make a new life for yourself. Marry you a nice Southern boy who can help you and understand you, that's my suggestion."

Scarlett's face darkened. "I'll have you know that I would crawl on my hands and knees before the President himself if it meant helping Rhett. I'll do anything, anything at all to help him! And as for you, well, I've never met someone in all my life as coldhearted as you are! And about your own nephew! Why, if you only had an idea of what he'd been through, you'd die of shame for speaking so of him!"

The muscles in the old one's neck twitched, her face twisted in some sort of agonizing contemplation. "Stupid girl. Go on then, ruin yourself on his account. But don't think to drag my son into your dirt. We Butler's are a proud family, and you're mad to assume that my son would risk his good name to aide you in this…folly!"

Scarlett straightened. "Well, I wouldn't take help from the likes of you on a silver platter." After a moment, she muttered, "Come children. Mother has to buy a new dress."

The old woman clinched her fists as Scarlett Butler and the three children wordlessly exited her residence, slamming the door loudly behind them.

"Ruth!" she bellowed loudly. Instantly, the maid appeared behind her mistress, sticking out her large black hand to touch her. The elder shot out her arm like a whip and her mouth stretched painfully as she spoke.

"Extend some invitations for tea this afternoon, Ruth. A few of my son's friends' wives. And send one to Mrs. Grant, if she's available…We must make absolutely certain that it's well-known that we have nothing to do with that woman."

* * *

><p><strong>AN-Just when you thought that the real culprit had been unmasked...**

**BlaqueCat, I think you're onto something about Rhett having a multitude of enemies. ScarlettStarlet, I'm glad someone caught that little press reference. ScarlettLovesRhett, Belle will be back, never fear. Can't keep a good woman like her down for long. Thank you, thank you for the nice reviews! Hope you're ready for Scarlett O'Hara, belle of five counties, to crash a Presidential Ball. **


	13. The Belle At the Ball

**Chapter 13**

Scarlett wondered if any of them might think that she was here for the same reason that they were. She would have dearly loved nothing more than to start a discussion with anyone who would listen, ideally the President himself, about where the real guilt for Rhett's charges lay, but as she surveyed the scene, she saw no one who looked capable of any genuine interest in her purpose. With the meaning of her endeavor set clearly within her mind, Scarlett entered the grand ballroom. Internally she noted that the room was dark and smelled strongly of vanilla.

She took up a position away from all the action and flagged down one of the waiters. The man was young and had elaborate red sideburns. His black coat was embroidered with a familiar looking gold insignia that Scarlett had seen before. Her green eyes fell on it at once.

"How long have you been employed here?" she queried, flashing the young man her most dazzling smile.

The gentleman clearly did not recognize the fact that her statement had been a question rather than an order.

"Well?" Scarlett tapped her fingers against the crystal glass he had handed her.

The young man looked down at the glass and then back at Scarlett. He poured the glass's fill of champagne and continued to look upon Scarlett as though he'd been waiting on someone with a monstrous deformity.

"Are you enjoying the festivities, Madam?" the young man asked.

"All of these doings?" Scarlett said.

"This grand event, Madam," the man said, "commemorating the peace agreement with Spain."

"I'm afraid that I don't understand," Scarlett tried the sweet smile again, batting her eyelashes.

"Well, Madam, there were several American deaths at the hands of the Spanish garrison in Cuba when they seized their vessel. We were close to declaring war, but now, thankfully, the crisis is averted."

"How so?" Scarlett's smile was veritably plastered on her face.

"I believe, Madam, that a former Confederate officer has been implicated in the scandal. According to the papers, that is. Apparently, it was all a grand conspiracy to start another war…it is exciting, Madam. Of course, not for the fellows who lost their lives on the high seas. Shot in cold blood. And I knew some of them myself."

Scarlett glared at him. "I don't want to hear about it."

Confused by the change in her attitude, the young man nervously stepped back lest he had overstepped himself.

Scarlett felt suddenly a distinct hush fall over the room and turned along with the rest of the crowd to the grand staircase. She turned her eyes to the door at the top of the stairs just in time to see a bearded man with a lackluster suit nod lazily to the crowd, followed closely by a richly dressed woman who would have been handsome if not for her distinctly crossed eyes. The couple were followed closely by a line of slowly moving men in dark suits.

"Isn't he marvelous?" the young man whispered reverently. "A class act our President, a class act."

Scarlett bit her tongue hard enough so that it drew blood. "I'm sure that he'll bring the people responsible for your friends' deaths to justice."

"Begging your pardon, Madam, but there was only one man behind the conspiracy. One man responsible for it all. A man named Butler."

Scarlett finished her drink with a gulp and put down the glass on the man's tray.

"I don't believe it!"

The man looked at her as though she was mad. "Its true, Madam. It's been in all the papers, even the Post. Very reliable," he said in a high, exasperated voice.

Scarlett rolled her eyes and took her leave, weaving her way through the crowd. The President and his wife had almost reached the end of the receiving line, and she thought that she observed less activity at the opposite end of the room. About three feet to her left stood an older man who was leaning against the wall and glaring up towards the door behind which the President and his procession had disappeared. Recognizing a potential ally by his unenthusiastic reaction to Grant, Scarlett's need to communicate with the man was urgent. She approached diffidently. "I understand that was the President," she said.

The white-haired man put a hand behind his ear.

"The President?" Scarlett repeated her previous statement as a question.

"Indeed it is. "The old man cleared his nostrils loudly, his expression less than affable. "I recognize that accent. Georgia. Somewhere north of Atlanta, am I right?"

"Clayton County," Scarlett obliged, then was rewarded with a wry grin from the elder.

"Figured so. I had a few boys from Clayton County in my company. Two cocksure hotheads named Fontaine and a couple of redheaded fools who managed to get themselves shot at Gettysburg."

"Why! You must mean Brent and Stuart Tarleton! You knew them? I mean, before they died?"

"I knew the young wastrels. Drunk all the time. But they were heroes…" he extended his hand to Scarlett and she thought that she detected the faint aroma of brandy on his breath. "Richard Taylor," he grumbled. "Formerly the commanding general of the Army of the Tennessee."

"Scarlett O'Hara Butler," she replied, grinning coquettishly. "What a pleasure to meet a Southerner. I do declare I was starting to feel a little lost among all these Yankees."

"Don't you start flirting with me, Mrs. Butler. Though I'm sure that you were a belle in your day, flaunting your Southern-ness won't get you anywhere but a one-way ticket to the Star Chamber."

"The what?"

"The Star Chamber, it's a-never mind-so why are you here, Mrs. Butler?"

She huffed. "I need to talk to Senator Andrew Butler. Or the President. Or anyone who will listen to me, for that matter. My husband's in terrible trouble, General Taylor, and I've got to get someone to help me."

She thought that she detected a glimmer of sympathy in the old man's eyes, so she continued. "They say that he conspired with Spain or Cuba or some other strange thing, as though he'd be that foolish! And they've taken all of our money and I'm here with the children and it's simply-"

"There, there, Mrs. Butler. Now, you're not saying that your husband is _Rhett_ Butler, are you? Because if so, I'm afraid that you'll be nothing if not disappointed when you see how badly they want to see him hanged."

"But! But he's innocent!"

"They said that Lincoln was an innocent man too, didn't they, Mrs. Butler? But the bullet still got him in the end. Of course, that particular bullet went right." General Taylor withdrew a flask from the inside of his jacket pocket and took a big swig. "Your husband was a blockade runner, am I right?"

Scarlett nodded, catching a glimpse of Julia Grant, surrounded by a group of chattering ladies.

"Only good thing Grant ever did was marry her," the old man said. "Somebody ought to do her a favor and get rid of Grant. A drunken fool, damn near drummed out of the army, President of the United States! Living in the lap of luxury, laying in a cool bed at no expense, eating up your tax dollars and mine with his harebrained financial schemes that his advisors cook up. That's why I'm here, Mrs. Butler. I watch. I listen. But you, ma'am, this isn't your world. You'd best tred careful, else you'll get burned like your husband."

The man's positive reaction to the dowdy Mrs. Grant was appalling to Scarlett, who considered herself the First Lady's better in both looks and attire. The freshly made green velvet was just her color, and it accented her waist so that none would miss it's smallness.

With a contemptuous glance in General Taylor's direction, Scarlett walked off. She crossed the room again, moving at an odd angle in order to put as much distance between herself and the old fool as quickly as possible. A few empty chairs had appeared behind the orchestra and she quickly grabbed one. To the side of the grand staircase, several men were surrounding the President, who looked drunk and uncomfortable as he tugged on his necktie. For a fleeting moment, she thought that he looked like her father. Cursing herself for the sacreligious thought, she drew in a deep breath, then turned around suddenly as she heard a loud clearing of a throat.

"Mrs. Butler?"

She froze as three dark-suited men surrounded her at all sides. She saw none of the activity around her distinctly, but she thought that she saw Mrs. Grant cast a glance in her direction, and perhaps General Taylor was lurking in a corner.

"Yes?" she said in a clear voice.

The foremost of the group spoke. "Mrs. Butler, I am Agent Howell, of the Pinkerton Agency. I must ask you to accompany me."

Scarlett faced the empty and cold eyes of the man.

"What have I done, sir?"

"If you would follow me, Mrs. Butler. It will all be explained to you."

"I won't!" she cried aloud, drawing a few curious stares from the crowd.

"Madam, you have no choice. If you resist, we will have no choice but to drag you. Now, if you please."

Scarlett glared in front of her, refusing to make eye contact with the men. Her heart was threatening to beat out of her chest with trepidation. What if they threw her in jail along with Rhett? The children were expecting her back at the hotel at ten, and Ashley was gone to Atlanta. What would happen to them if she didn't come back? What would she do if they put her in prison, or worse?

Indignation swathing her vision in a kind of haze, Scarlett said nothing, merely nodding in acquiescence and following the men out of the ballroom.


	14. An Unlikely Alliance

**A/N: Back already! I'm so happy that folks are still reading and liking this story of mine. It's such a fun break from the drudgery of moral philosophy reading to write on the RBA…So, you know the drill by now. Drop me a review/message/etc…, let me know what you think. Anyone have a guess as to the identity of the "real" conspirator? Thoughts?**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14<strong>

The train ride to Atlanta had been trying for Ashley Wilkes. Three days he had traversed, stopping at this stop and then that, taking on new passengers and then getting delayed by a freak snowstorm in Charlottesville. On top of that, there had been that strange man who had sat down next to him, who had stared out the window the entire time, his face half covered by the wide-brimmed hat resting low on his head. He had shiny tan shoes, which caught Ashley's attention.

Attempting to be polite, he murmured, "You on to Atlanta?"

The man's head did not move, so Ashley shrugged, assuming that his train ride home would be devoid of conversation.

Behind his newspaper, which had another picture of Rhett on its front page, Ashley was withdrawing into the mental bubble he formed whenever he could not bear to be part of whatever was going on around him. It was the only place in which he felt safe from the cruel, shattered world in which he lived. He missed Melly more than anything, yet, secretly he was glad that she did not have to witness this nightmarish Washington experience play out with the rest of them. Rhett's predicament would have upset her terribly; she who lived according the laws of her own innate sense of honor, who would have gladly sacrificed her life for his if she had thought it would repay her debt to Scarlett.

The train stopped with a sudden jerk and shook him from his meditation. A woman from behind him who had stood up in the aisle way lurched forward and nearly landing in his newspaper as she righted herself. Meanwhile, the strange man next to Ashley had gotten up and walked past him the moment they had pulled into Atlanta, rudely jostling his way through the crowd. He assumed that the man was simply in a hurry, a busy commuter overeager to get his business in the city accomplished. And yet, Ashley continually looked over his shoulder, as though some unseen hand was reaching out to grab him. Seeing none, he put on his jacket and took his small overnight bag in his hand and clapped his hat on his head. He'd have to be quick about his errand if he wanted to interrogate Belle Watling without anyone being aware of his presence in the city. That would mean avoiding Ivy Street at all costs. Aunt Pitty and India couldn't be trusted to keep a secret, that was certain!

He began to imagine various unlikely ways by which he could explain the purpose of his mission to his family or any of his friends. He was not willing to push Pitty to the extent of her having a nervous fit though, the sure result of explaining the situation to her. Besides, she'd probably just beg him to stay and send for Beau to return to Atlanta as well, Scarlett and Rhett be damned. But she had India. And there was no reason for either of them to think that they could always depend on him.

He kept walking hurriedly down the busy street, pulling his broad hat even further down over his face, hoping to obscure it so that any well-meaning neighbor wouldn't stop him and drown him in condolences. Melly would want him to go on, find Belle, and help Rhett. He moved across the depot, frowning as if he were trying to see the people through the fierce sunlight.

"Ashley Wilkes!" a man's voice cried. From the side of his eye, Ashley could make out a pair of arms being flung wide open.

"Mister Kendall!" Ashley's mouth was slightly agape as he made eye contact with Beau's schoolmaster. He hadn't bothered to send the man a note that the boy would be indefinitely absent. Perhaps Scarlett had…

"How is Beauregard, sir? I was horrified to hear about his case of the German measles!"

"German measles?" Ashley repeated, rigidly facing the man.

"Yes, and it's a pity that Wade Hampton has it as well. Of course, it's not surprising! The two are rarely apart. I do hope that they're both on the road to recovery."

Ashley smiled weakly. "Indeed, let us hope so."

The schoolmaster turned to leave and Ashley hurried away in silence. His head was churning with old rages, agony of lying to his friends and family. And all for Rhett! No, all for Scarlett.

He trudged through the city, mercifully unrecognized, until he finally came upon Belle Watling's three story establishment. Taking a deep breath, he sighed, then walked up the brick steps and prepared to knock on the door and be greeted by untold visions of lewdness. Instead, he took a step backward, then forward again as he read the notice nailed upon the wooden door.

**THIS ESTABLISHMENT IS RENDERED CLOSED INDEFINATELY BY ORDER OF THE FULTON COUNTY SHERRIFF. SIGNED, J.F. TAYLOR, DEPUTY SHERRIFF OF FULTON COUNTY, GEORGIA **

"Shit!" Ashley cursed loudly.

The sheriff's office lay next to the county jail on the other side of the city park which he had not crossed before. Once he approached it, he took off his hat and rubbed his forehead, beady with sweat. He had jogged the entire way without stopping. A rush of energy overcoming him, he barreled through the doorway of the administration building.

"I need to know what you've done with Belle Watling!" he cried upon entry.

The two deputies on duty chuckled slightly between themselves. "You ain't the first one askin' for ole Belle, sir. Name?"

"Ashley Wilkes. Ivy Street. Now, what's happened to her sporting house? Oh, whatever it is, I need to speak with her now. It's a matter of vital importance."

"Why listen here, Mister Wilkes, just this past week we shut that drunken whore down and took half of what was in her house and you know where she is now? Sittin' here eatin' like the President of the United States! Well, lemme tell you this, ain't nothing gonna be good again till we get rid of the Scalawags and get us a sheriff who can put these whorehouses out of business."

"Mrs. Watling isn't a Scalawag," Ashley said evenly.

"I don't take your meanin'."

"I said that Mrs. Watling is not a Scalawag. She's as much of a Southerner as you or I. Not to mention the fact that I and half of the most prominent men in the entire city owe her our very lives. I do not forget it."

The two deputies clearly had no concept of the significance of Ashley's statement, and both rolled their eyes as though he had said quite enough.

"She's due out today. She was in here a week, for public intoxication," the younger of the two said. "Iffen you have a couple hours to kill, you might catch a glimpse of her."

Ashley nodded wordlessly and took a seat on the bench, stretching his long legs out in front of him. For at least four hours he watched the deputies come and go to no avail, then suddenly, without warning, the constable was guiding a woman of medium height with dirty looking reddish hair that hung askew around her shoulders. Her face was set as though she was not only meeting opposition, but seeking it out as well. Her lower lip was tilted downward, and Ashley thought to himself that she looked as if she were on her way to the gallows rather than to freedom. Her figure was encased in a dress of black crepe, and on her head was a hideous hat.

"Mrs. Watling! Over here!" Ashley stood up and waved madly.

"You kin?" the deputy holding Belle's arm questioned.

"No. I'm a friend. And I've come to take Belle home with me."

The man nodded, tired of the madam's presence in his jail and ready for her to depart. He had to release her into someone's custody, why not this man?

As they left the jail, Belle trailing after Ashley without saying a word, Ashley looked over her for the first time in the light of day. Her eyes were her most striking feature, alike Scarlett, although the color of them was an ice blue rather than emerald green. But they were quite vague, as though she was only just returning to consciousness after a blow to the head.

Belle herself was overcome with gratitude. She clearly understood that something she had been threatened with something bigger than she was and she was facing herself and the reality of the situation for the very first time. As Ashley watched the notorious madam, completely stripped of her rouge and fancy clothes, he saw for the first time a middle-aged woman, still handsome, and very frightened. Something within him lit up like a spark, some long dead hint of his chivalrous nature was reawakened as he eyed the poor creature stare down at her shaking white hands.

"Do you need a doctor?"

"No, sir, Mister Wilkes. I'll be goin' about my bidnis."

"And where would your business be? Shut down indefinitely if I read the sign correctly. Come with me, Mrs. Watling, I'll see that you have a hot meal and a physician to look after that bruise on your temple. And after that, you can tell me everything you know about Rhett's attorney and where I can reach him for questioning."

"Mister Wilkes, I can't ask you ter risk yer name for me. I've done finished my time, and I'm off tomorrow for California on the first stage."

"California? But Mrs. Watling-it is _Mrs._ Watling, isn't it?" At her affirmative nod he continued. "I require your assistance, I beg you, on behalf of Scarlett and Rhett and the friendship I know that you share. If you don't help me track down this Jacobs character, we'll never get to the bottom of this conspiracy and Rhett will be hanged. Is that what you want?"

"Even if I wanted to help, I can't do nothing. And you'd best figure it out, too. This here thing's far too big fer you, Mister Wilkes," Belle sighed. "That 'sides, even if I cried foul and told 'em everything I know 'bout Jacobs, they still wouldn't listen to a doggone thing I was sayin'. I ain't nothing but a nobody, and they ain't never gonna take my word against his. And Rhett's ain't much better, if you get my meanin'. I reckon he's racked up 'bout as many Yankee enemies as he has Confederate."

"Why do you say that?" Ashley stroked his chin.

"'Cause I was there, Mister Wilkes. Rhett used to have his hands in all sorts of messes and he'd use my house fer a cover. Kind of like the night I put you up…" She looked up at Ashley pointedly, as though reminding him of her role in saving his life.

"I have not forgotten your kindness on that night, Mrs. Watling. And I promise, on my honor as a gentleman, to vouchsafe for you. If you would only help me search for Jacobs. If we're lucky, he may still be in town."

"He ain't. And if he hears we're lookin', he'll skadaddle quick as you can whistle Dixie."

"Then we find him," Ashley held out his hand. "Are you with me in this, Mrs. Watling?"

She stared hard at his outstretched hand for a minute or two before smirking and taking it in her own.

"Call me Belle."

"Excellent!" he exclaimed. "Now then, where do you think our friend Mr. Jacobs is likely to have gone?"

"If I know him, he'll be headed to New Orleans. Or Havana. That's a long boat ride, Mister Wilkes."

"I'll follow him across the four corners of the earth if I have to. Anything to prove Rhett's innocence. God knows I owe the man what help I can give him. And then there's Scarlett. Scarlett would move mountains for him if she could bear the burden. If I could only help…"

The fervor in his eyes momentarily dimmed and Belle patted him kindly on the hand. "Makin' up fer lost time, eh?"

He said at length, "I suppose you could say that. Well, kindly come along. We'll need to get you some suitable attire before anyone notices us."

"Fair 'nuff." Belle smiled. "Wouldn't want ter tarnish yer reputation, Mister Wilkes."

"I thought nothing of the sort. I merely thought of your comfort."

"Oh," she said, taken aback. "Thanks."

He nodded. "Oh, and Belle? Call me Ashley."


	15. The Plan

**Chapter 15**

Scarlett sat for a long time on the hard prison floor, examining her soul. She had been questioned for three and a half hours by no less than seven Pinkerton agents, and had concocted a spider web of facts and lies that was not at all important to her but which appeared to be necessary in spite of her opinion.

The icepick eyes of the guard at her door were forever upon her, watching her every move. They had known she was coming, that much was certain - but why were they still holding her? It had to have something to do with Rhett…she was as certain of that as she had ever been of anything. And she, Scarlett, would have to get out of the mess on her own.

Throughout her twenty-eight years, grumbling and sometimes cursing and often afraid, once in desperation, Scarlett had always obeyed whatever instinct of this kind had come to her: in desperation when she had ordered Mammy to turn her mother's portieres into a serviceable gown, afraid when she'd faced the Federal raiders and asked for Wade's sword to be spared, grumbling when she had endured marital relations with Frank. The thought of Frank, dead on Decatur Road with a bullet in his brain brought her slowly to her feet. She knew what she had to do. It seemed to her that, all along, her singular strength had been making men fall in love with her - she could charm her way out of anything - even a Yankee prison.

Suddenly, she heard the loud sound of banging from somewhere outside. Scarlett headed to the cell door and looked out into the well-lighted barn-like corridor. As soon as she did, a huge man with a pronounced limp hailed the guard by slapping him on the back and yelling, "Yeyyyyyyy boy! Cap'n Yinger!"

The guard clearly did not appreciate being stuck on the back. "Lay off, old man," he said. "What you got there?"

"Nothin' special this time. Jus' here letter," the man said and slunk over to a barrel. "Come on, Ying, let's have a look."

The Captain was clearly squirming, but did not protest as the man opened the seal. There was silence between them as the two men skimmed the letter's contents until finally one of them said, "Christ!" Then they broke into noise at once.

The big man turned around, an uncertain grin on his face.

"Leave it to ole Taylor. That boy's a real card!"

"Maybe he's gone and got religion," the Captain smirked.

"Not on yer life," the elder said.

"Yep, Taylor's got religion and is witnessin' for Jesus. An o-riginal way to do it if I ever saw one."

"Leave it to one of them ole Rebel boys. Pull out the all the ole stops when it comes ter purty gals. Yyeeeeeyyyy boy!" "

The Captain rolled his eyes. "Aaa, shut up, Hagewood."

"What'd you say that for, Cap'n?"

"Sick of hearin' you."

"You ain't figurin' on handin' her over? Them Pinkertons want ter bring charges against her too."

"Ain't no case against her. Her husband's business ain't hers. I'll give her ter Taylor iffen he wants the responsibility. He's a lawyer, ain't he? And Mrs. Grant's ole stalwart."

"She's a beaut. I'd like ter have a chance with her."

"What'd you say that for?" the Captain said sternly.

"For laughs," Hagewood said. "What's it to you?"

"I don't see you laughin'."

Hagewood lunged like a whirlwind on a summers day and there began a fight between the two men amid overturned barrels and swinging fists until the Captain finally grabbed him and threw him out.

Then a calm descended upon the corridor as nerve shattering as the clamor had been. The Captain rolled up his sleeves and made his way towards Scarlett's cell.

"Apologies, ma'am, for that display."

Scarlett put her hands on her hips. She began at once, "I want to know what you plan on doing with me. You have no right to keep me here, none at all!"

"Ma'am," the Captain interrupted. "Shut your mouth. Look at this and then I don't want to hear no more out of you."

He thrust the letter into her hands.

"What's this?" Scarlett growled. The penmanship was a man's, the stationary bearing the same insignia the one that had been delivered to her hotel room had.

_Mrs. Butler, I am pleased to hear that the Agents gained nothing admissible in court from your statements. You have done well this night, Madam. If I might extend a hand of friendship, I have already taken the liberty of moving your children and nephew to a safe house. There is unrest in Washington this night and I did not desire any harm to come to them. Fear not, they are safe. If you will kindly deliver yourself into the care of General Taylor at the earliest possible opportunity, we will correspond again soon, perhaps in person. Until then, I remain your servant. God bless you. _

Her knees went hollow under her as she read.

"I don't understand," she said as she finished.

"Don't you know whose insignia that is?" the Captain cried in anguish.

"No, whose is it? It's not anyone that I know."

"It's him."

"Him who?"

"The President!" the Captain cried.

"The President? The President doesn't know who I am!"

"What do you know what he knows?" the Captain moaned, "You ain't never seen him. I'd figure you'd be grateful."

"Grateful!" Scarlett screamed, "Grateful! My husband is in jail, I do everything I can to help him and I get hauled out of a ballroom in handcuffs now you want me to go crawling to the writer of this damn letter! Some _anonymous _benefactor? No thank you, Captain, I'll wait here until I am sent back to my hotel in my own carriage."

Too stunned to resist, the Captain merely sighed. "I'd take the offer and run, iffen it was me."

She turned around and stamped her tiny feet two or three times on the hard floor and went to the window and looked out.

There he was - General Richard Taylor of the Army of the Tennessee - leaning against a readied carriage as he took a long draft from his cigar.

Scarlett heaved a sigh.

"Alright. I'll go."

She was conserving energy for the trip back to the hotel, or for the escape, if that was the case. She stood at her cell door for the next several minutes while the paperwork was completed - waiting for the Captain and another guard to give her leave to go. The window looked out on a brick wall and down an alley full of cats and garbage. A few snow flakes drifted past the window, but they were thin and scattered and barely visible.

The Captain was dawdling over everything, talking to himself excitedly. Great balls of fire, Scarlett thought, he actually thinks that the President wrote to me. Imagine! She glowered at him, fool that he was, for believing such nonsense. She was ready though. All she had to do was push one foot in front of the other and down the steep steps. Once down, she could get out of the building. Once out of it, she would hail a rig and be at the hotel with the children.

"Mrs. Butler," the Captain opened the cell door after an eternity. "I'm releasing you into Taylor's care." The crusty old Confederate had appeared at Captain Yinger's side, still dressed in his eveningwear from the night's ball. He appeared rather more relaxed than at the formal affair - perhaps he had finished his flask?

"Well then, Missy. You alright?"

"She's fine," the Captain responded defensively. "Ain't been no ill treatment."

"Well," Taylor said, "we'll see 'bout that, won't we, Ying? Haven't you a blanket for the lady?"

"I run a jail here, Gen'ral. A damned good one. I got credentials, see-"

"Boy, only thing you got is a stupid face and a Yankee voice to go with it, now, if you don't mind, Miss Scarlett, come on with me."

Scarlett took the old General's arm gingerly. As soon as they were safely down the stairwell, she whispered loudly, "What is going on? What did they want with me?"

"Shut up talking so loud," he snapped.

Scarlett shuttered to attention and threw out a ponderous sigh as he helped her into the carriage first, then got in after her, shutting the door behind him after he had given instructions to the driver. "You got a lot to be worried about, Miss Scarlett. They're aimin' to hang your husband and whoever else they can get to swing alongside him, man or woman."

"Oh fiddle-dee-dee, as if they could frighten me - just who wrote this letter, you?"

Taylor raised an eyebrow. "Awful feisty, aren't you, Missy?"

"You have no idea. But you can start by telling me what you've done to my children."

"I told you. They're safe."

"So what did they want, those men?"

"I take it they weren't too friendly - they didn't hurt you though, did they?"

She shook her head.

"Didn't figure they would. It don't pay to make that sort of mistake. "

There was a silence between them for a moment or two.

"Course," Taylor muttered, "I reckon everything pays, if you know how to make it. Look here, Missy. You didn't tell them anything 'bout yourself, I hope? Money and the like?"

Scarlett laughed wryly at that. "What money are you talking about? Everything I own is Rhett's and its all been seized."

Taylor raised an eyebrow. "What about your share of your plantation and your store?"

"What - how did you know that?"

"You'd be surprised how little I _don't _know about you, Missy. I just ain't found nothing that paid yet."

"You're a part of this too, aren't you?" Scarlett cried accusingly.

Taylor shook his head. "It ain't my mistake, Missy. It's your husband's mistake, so don't put me in on it. Naw, like I told you earlier - I watch, I listen. I only act when needs be, like tonight."

"You act on your own?"

"There's a couple of us that ain't dead yet," Taylor chortled. "I'm glad I thought to follow you, though."

"I was doing quite capably on my own."

"That's rich…what were you figurin' on doin', Missy? Raisin' your skirts for the big, bad Yankee?"

At her silence, he smirked and said, "You got guts, Missy, but it'll take more than that to get you out of this mess. It'll take wits and luck, but I've got a way with Grant - I can get you safe passage back home."

"Home! I don't want to go home - what if Rhett - well, if something happens, I want to be here! I can't just abandon him now."

"Abandon him, hell! Missy, I don't believe that you realize what almost happened. There was a warrant for your arrest for conspiracy to commit murder. My God, girl, that's a life sentence at best."

"But I didn't do anything -"

"I imagine that you placed yourself in New Orleans in the fall of sixty-eight."

"Well, yes, of course. They asked me if Rhett and I went to New Orleans for our honeymoon and I said yes."

Taylor looked at her pityingly. "You had no idea what kind of man you'd married, did you?"

"I don't care what you say or what you think! You horrid old man! I love my husband and I don't care what he's done - I don't! I only want to get him out of here!"

Taylor removed the cigar momentarily from his mouth. "Love him that much, eh? Well, Missy, even love ain't worth dying for, that's my opinion. But if you're dead set against leaving, you'll need to try another tactic entirely for keeping yourself safe."

"What might that be?"

He smirked, "Using the charm that God gave you."

"How, I -"

"You take all three of them children to your husband's hearing on Friday, I'll get a buddy of mine to see that your picture's front page news. The grieving wife, desolate as she's thrown out of the courtroom..."

"Thrown out?"

"That's right. Yes ma'am, you faint as the charges are being read. A well placed outburst declaring your undying love wouldn't be bad either."

"And how, may I ask, would that benefit me, besides getting me thrown out?"

"Well, Missy - there's a secret to handling the Yankee public - naw, an art. That secret is never letting them in on the fact that their brains ain't got a chance against yours. As long as you let them think that they have the upper hand, well honey, they'll let you win them over. And that, Missy, should be easy for you. Hope you got a taste for ass. You'll be kissing quite a few, if you're determined to stay. Pardon the crude expression, but that's the only way you can avoid arrest."

Scarlett's gaze fell on Taylor and was held. "I'll kiss as many asses as you tell me to if it'll help Rhett. Whatever it takes…but, why - why are you helping me?"

Taylor peered at her with exaggerated solemnity, then looked directly at her and grinned. "I respect guts. You got 'em, Missy. Lord help you, but you've got 'em."


	16. The Hearing

**Chapter 16**

"Could you please tell the court your full name, sir?"

"Captain Rhett Kinnicutt Butler, of Charleston and Atlanta."

"Captain Butler, would you describe the nature of your military service?"

"I was a blockade runner between the years of 1861 and 1863, privately contracted by the Confederate States Navy. I was sole proprietor of two vessels, and had interest in seven others. We specialized in the export of cotton and the importation of fancy goods for our ladies at home. Essentially, I was helping morale."

"And did you join the regular army?"

"Yes I did. I traveled by foot from Rough and Ready in Georgia and enlisted in the first artillery unit I came across. I saw action at the Battle of Franklin."

"Were you wounded, Captain Butler?"

"Not terribly. Frostbite. Nasty case of dysentery. The soldier's complaint."

"And after the war, Captain Butler, did you continue your military career?"

"No I did not."

"But you were arrested, shortly after the cessation of hostilities, were you not?"

"I was."

"Would you please describe the nature of the charges laid against you?"

"They accused me of making off with the Confederate treasury."

"And who was 'they', sir?"

"The United States government."

"Move to strike, Your Honor - the witness is stating an opinion."

"Sustained, Mr. Whitfield. Mr. Drake, hearsay is inadmissible in this courtroom, do you understand, sir?"

"Your Honor," Drake countered, "Captain Butler is merely stating the facts. Indeed, sir, my client was incarcerated at the end of the war -"

"I'm thrilled to let Mr. Drake continue…" The prosecutor's face, greasy with whatever he had put on it, was framed by white curls. He looked over tiny spectacles at Rhett. "I would like the record to reflect that the Government did not admit this alleged _offense_ into evidence - however, if the _defense_ deems it necessary in this trial -"

"I'm telling you this for the last time!" Rhett burst out, "I was set up then, just as I have been this time!"

"Order!" the judge bellowed. "Order in this courtroom! Order!"

"Not another day," Rhett repeated, his voice choked.

Scarlett shook her head emphatically from her seat in the front row behind the defense table, her eyes fixed upon her husband. It was awful, so awful.

Frustration was blocking Rhett's windpipe. "Can't I make you see," he croaked, "that this has happened before-"

"Your Honor-"

"I'm innocent," he said fiercely.

Scarlett's hand was on her jaw.

"Save it for closing statement, Captain Butler -"

"When would that be, just before I hang?"

It was the right moment. Scarlett rose from her chair, dropping the newspaper she had been using to fan herself. Her face was contracted in anticipated pain. "No! No! No you're not! Rhett! Rhett!"

The two lawyers neither moved nor spoke but hung in what seemed a savage perplexity. Finally, the judge managed a, "calm yourself, Madam." The judge was inclined naturally to be kind to ladies, particularly such a pretty little dish who clearly had everything against her.

Scarlett, by an effort or will, managed to look as if she and Rhett were alone in the room.

"Rhett! Oh darling, I can't bear it!"

"Get her out of here!" the prosecutor bellowed. "Judge! Bailiff, come get this girl! Come get her!"

"Mr. Whitfield!"

As if on cue, Henry Hamilton began to breathe like one who feels the onset of asthma. "Scarlett," he said in a limp voice.

She stiffened. And then she fainted.

Rhett's brow lowered and the thrust of his jaw indicated that he would not be stopped from reaching his wife. When he rushed from the stand, he began like a bull that, before charging, backs with his head lowered and paws the ground. "Scarlett! Scarlett! You sir - get your hands off of my wife!"

"Control yourself, Captain Butler!" the judge warned.

"Scarlett!" Rhett yanked away from the bailiff. He drew breath and barreled over the defense table, putting his face next to hers as Henry held her by the shoulders. "Scarlett! Scarlett!"

_She was falling. Falling down the stairwell. He could do nothing to stop her fall. _

He drew breath. "Scarlett, please -"

"I'm alright," she whispered, putting her hand to the side of his face. "Trust me."

"You scared me half to death," he growled.

"I'm sorry," she said under her breath, continuing to hold his face, shaking her head slightly. "I'm going to get you out of here, I promise."

Rhett opened his mouth silently.

"I love you, Rhett!"

She slumped against Henry, and Rhett rose woodenly and allowed the bailiff to pull him back to the defense table.

"Escort Mrs. Butler out of the courtroom…we'll take a ten minute recess and reconvene afterward."

Rhett's fury was directed at his lawyer, who was tugging at his shirt in an attempt to get him to sit down. His big hands clenched helplessly. His expression was a turmoil of despair and outrage. His black eyes seemed to sweat in his broiling face. He closed them for a moment and on the back of his lids, Scarlett's image was winking at him. She was up to something, something that would see him out of this mess. She loved him. _Loved_ him. Despite it all. It was a moment before Rhett opened his eyes. He seemed to those around him newly stunned. He stood where he was for at least three minutes, then he turned slowly like a large vessel reversing its direction and faced the door.

"Uncle Rhett!"

He was alert, shaking. His heart constricted as he heard their voices. A rush of agonizing love for all three of them rushed over him like a transfusion of life. He groaned with joy as they came at him and encircled him with their love.

"Uncle Rhett! Uncle Rhett!"

"Beau! Oh my God, Wade! Ella!" He scooped Ella up and planted kisses on her face.

"I missed you, Uncle Rhett," the child said and wiped her nose on his shoulder.

"I missed you too, honey. Wade, Beau, boys…Listen," he said and lowered his voice to an almost pleading tone, "I need you to look after Scarlett, you understand? I'm not sure what she's up to-"

Beau's steel-colored eyes were very still, a kind of fanatic intelligence palpable in his face. "Shush, Uncle Rhett. Don't worry."

Wade nodded emphatically behind his cousin. "Mother's got help, Uncle Rhett. Its going to be okay, I promise."

Rhett smiled to diminish the distance between them. "I believe you."

"Come on, Ella," Wade said softly. "That man from the paper wants a picture."

She hung onto Rhett a moment longer. Then she raised her face and looked blindly at Rhett, the only father she had ever known. "I don't want you to be hurt, Uncle Rhett. I want you to come home with us."

"Its all right," Rhett said, kissing her on the cheek, "it's all right. It's going to be fine, sweet Ella. And I'm going to come home and it's all going to be all right."

She slumped as if she were exhausted but fresh tears streaked her face.

"What are you going to do today?" Rhett asked, to get her mind on something else.

She rubbed her small fist over her eyes. "Meet the President."

Wade's eyes widened and he whispered furtively, "_come on_, Ella!"

"Go on," Rhett said, "Go on. I'll be all right. I promise."

Ella gave him one last hug, then allowed Beau to take her hand and lead her back toward the door.

"Wade Hampton," Rhett stuck out his hand and grasped the boy's within it. "Be careful."

"Always," Wade said and smiled, then rounded on his heels and followed his cousin and sister out of the courtroom.

"Good kids," Drake commented from his seat. "Nice kids, Butler. Thought you said you didn't have none."

"I have three…" Rhett muttered aloud, his eyes not leaving the door. He stood there a moment longer, his face set to see the ordeal through.

"Yonder's the deputy," Drake drawled, heaving his huge frame from out of his chair. "I'm going to use the john before the judge gets back. Remember, if anybody comes up wantin' to chat…save it for the trial, eh?"

Rhett nodded his understanding, though out of the corner of his eye he saw a lean, slightly stooped figure gesticulating angrily at the deputy.

"What's that business?"

Drake had already disappeared, so he realized that he was talking into the air. In a moment of madness, he considered standing up again and making a run for it…

"Rhett?"

Rhett turned around with an aggressiveness brought on by nervous agitation. A large man in a black suit was leaning up against the defense table, inky, feline eyes darting back and forth as he looked Rhett over.

"Can I have a word with you?"

Rhett turned his sharp creased face just enough to take the man in, and the other did likewise, but neither spoke. "I told you what to do," the man said after a moment.

As he had not had time to prepare his words, startled as he was by the man's appearance, he was barely coherent as he spat them out. When he had finished, the other man was still leaning slightly forward, at an angle to him, his eyes fixed upon Rhett.

"You married some woman…let's just hope she doesn't get herself strung up along with you. They had her, you know. Your friends. She told them all about your _honeymoon_ trip." He then allowed himself a slow, creased, all-knowing, quarter smile.

"She had nothing to do with that then," he snapped. "That was me, all me!"

"She was trying to help you," the man said. "She didn't know you couldn't be helped. Bit off more than she could chew though, I suspect."

"She has nothing to do with this," Rhett said, his voice hushed and grim. "She didn't know why I was there. And who's that man skulking about in the back?"

"Old feller? That's ole Dick Taylor. Ex-Confed. Full of piss and vinegar. Seems mighty keen on your wife."

"Why is that, I wonder?"

The man shrugged. "No idea."

Rhett smiled grimly. "You know, I wonder that we are even related at all, for all the help you've extended my way."

The man returned the smirk. "You have no idea, brother, what I have suffered, on your behalf."

Rhett let out a rasping sound. "I recall being of some assistance to you, once."

His brother's face flushed. "The gravity of your situation certainly surpasses my own. And if I might suggest - when your wife visits next - I would urge you to remind her to keep out of my way, those three children too."

The phrase, "those three children," stuck like a burr in Rhett's brain-the subtlety of the threat to his wife, stepchildren, and nephew hurting him more than any of his brother's references to his own spectacular failures. Had he delivered them over to his brother-to be a butt for the man's wicked tongue and callous, self-serving nature? How many other enemies lurked in the shadows, waiting for Scarlett to make a catastrophic mistake? The thought of her in the hands of the Pinkertons burned at his soul …

A tremor ran through him as he looked at the clock on the wall. It was eleven minutes to two. A moment or two after his brother departed into the crowd he met the eyes of the darkened old figure in the back of the room. Taylor, apparently, was his name. He felt a cold weight on his shoulders, as if an icy cloak had been thrown on him.

Taylor looked at him coldly from the back of the courtroom.

The gavel sounded. "Court is back in session…let us commence with this hearing, Mr. Whitfield."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: …And the plot thickens…So, after a month hiatus, I'm back…I promised! ****So, dear readers, you know the drill by now. Drop me a review/message/etc…, let me know what you think. You've now met all of the major players in this saga…but who's working for who? Anyone have a new guess as to the identity of the "real" conspirator? Thoughts? **


	17. Two Southern Women

**Chapter 17**

The next morning as soon as President Grant returned from an overnight trip to Maryland, his wife told him there was an urgent matter which she wanted him to attend to at once.

"I already told you, Mrs. Grant, Babcock assures me that they have the right man," he said, addressing his right foot which he held forward, turning slightly as if he were trying to look at the sole of his boot. He was standing at the bottom of the three small steps while she remained seated on her small wing chair in her solar, newspaper in hand. She was a small woman with pale crossed eyes which she had refused to have fixed because he liked them the way they were, and mousey brown hair that rose on top like the crest of a bird.

"Three days, Mr. Grant!" she said in the restrained speech that was the norm for a woman of her good breeding. "Three days until this Butler man is brought to trial. A civilian tried as an enemy of the state, just the same as the Lincoln conspirators were."

The President, looking out the window and into the distance over the city, removed his sack of tobacco from his jacket pocket and nearly let it fall from his hand. He returned the pouch wordlessly and stood for awhile looking back at his wife.

"It will pacify the Spanish. It will give me some credibility within the party. Babcock says that he's guilty as sin," he said presently. "And you yourself didn't offer any words of encouragement when we discussed it earlier." He bent over his pipe and lit it. The upper part of his face sloped gradually into the lower, which was long and narrow and covered with scraggly whiskers. He had fox-colored eyes shadowed under an old hat that he wore slanted forward along the line of his nose.

"Mr. Grant," she said, "I must ask you to intervene before you do anything else today. You've read the paper, I know you have. We must invite his wife to dine with us, and the children too, at once, do you understand?"

"Why, we certainly can't…but why, why the sudden interest, Mrs. Grant?"

"Because it's wrong and you know it is. Now I don't care how you do it, but you must do something," she said sternly. "You are the President of the United States. You are supposed to have some sense. I'm surprised that there aren't riots on Butler's behalf on the White House lawn. Taylor says-"

"Oh the devil with Taylor! Goddamn it, Julia! That old renegade hasn't had a coherent thought since Shiloh. Not a goddamn thing! What has he to do with this anyway?"

"He's an old friend, Mr. Grant. And he's smart and you know it. Look, we must be clever about this, dear. Now more than ever before. It's reelection next year, and you'll get nowhere by having this man pay for the crimes of others. Look at his wife! The face, Mr. Grant…like a little china doll! And the children! Can you imagine Jesse or Ellen's faces in their place? I can!"

For a moment, Grant seemed to hesitate between silence and speech as he studied the newspaper. "Somebody has to pay," he said after a while.

"Well it'll be you if you allow this injustice to go on!" she said, rising from her seat, moving past her husband and then shutting the door behind her with a precise little slam.

She went next into the dining room where her two younger boys were eating breakfast and sat down on the edge of her chair at the head of the table. "Honestly," she said aloud to her youngest, Jesse, aping her husband saying, "_Somebody _has to pay!"

Mrs. Grant continued to read her newspaper folded beside her plate despite her ladies' maid interrupting her eating to present her with her invitations from the other Cabinet wives. She shrugged her shoulders as she shifted through each of them, all on scented linen stationary. Each of them possessed a unique scent, although the only thing that the women who had sent them had in common was that none of them care what was going on around them, injustice or not. Their husbands were business types or intellectuals-her husband was neither. Not that he wasn't clever, he _was_ the President, after all. No, her husband had his faults, his fondness for the bottle and the pipe at the forefront-but she loved him dearly and would have laid down her life for him. That sort of love made sense to Julia Grant, and clearly, it was the sort of love that Scarlett Butler had for her husband. To be the instrument of that man's undoing, particularly when he had the endorsement of her old friend Dick Taylor, did not sit well with the First Lady…no, not at all.

Her daughter Nellie entered the room silently, her back stiff as a rake handle. "I knew you would read it too, Mamma. I knew it. You must be moved to pity too, admit it!"

Nellie was eighteen and had a pleasant face and was engaged to be married to an English _singer_ of all things, something with made Mrs. Grant feel faint every time she dwelled overlong on it.

"As a matter of fact I have read it, same as everyone else."

"I feel sorry for the poor bastard," Frederick, the middle boy, piped up.

"Language, Frederick," Mrs. Grant corrected automatically. "You must try to remember yourself. Why your brother would never…and that's why he's getting married and you aren't."

"I'm not going to get married," Frederick said, his mouth filled with a big bite of biscuit.

"Well, what nice girl would _want_ to marry you?"

He grinned devilishly. "Nellie's a nice gal. And she's picked her a singer."

And once he had said that, his sister rose immediately from her chair and his mother shrilled. "I have worked and slaved and struggled and sweated to raise my children to be gentlemen and a lady and as soon as we've gotten anywhere in the world they marry trash and ruin everything I've done. I have half a mind to change my will."

"Don't do that, Mamma," Jesse said, his small face drawn. "I ain't had time to meet a trashy gal."

"Jesse Root Grant!"

Frederick roared with appreciative laughter and even Nellie was forced to smile.

Mrs. Grant winced. "Well, I never…what is it, Iris?"

The maid stood still at the door, bent forward, her mouth opened as if she were not sure what she was supposed to say, if anything at all.

"Mrs. Grant, ma'am, there's a General Taylor here in the East parlor. He said that he was a family acquaintance. He was insistent that you meet the lady with him, ma'am, a Mrs. Scarlett Butler."

Mrs. Grant raised her head, one hand lifted to her throat. "Scarlett Butler, you say? As in _the_ Scarlett Butler, from the paper?"

Out of nowhere a guttural voice groaned. "Not Taylor. Goddamn it."

"You set a fine example for your sons, Mr. President," Mrs. Grant said, waving the maid aside as she rose. "Come with me, Nellie. I want to meet this lady. I have kin in Atlanta, perhaps she is aware of them. And dear Richard, he is kind to bring her to me."

"Make no promises to her," her husband said from the adjoining room.

"Mr. Grant," she said in a low voice, "I cannot afford to pay for your mistakes forever. I have worked very hard to get us here and I cannot…"

"Fine, fine. Not so loud, Mrs. Grant!"

She drew herself back. "Where is your sense of charity? Why I am ashamed of you. Lincoln would have been down there _himself _making his introductions!" and then she turned and walked off as fast as she could, her daughter tailing behind her.

"I tell you, Ellen Grant," she addressed her daughter by her Christian name, "no matter how far he advances, he still behaves like a general…taking orders from his superior."

Nellie muttered to herself. "You don't mind as long as _you're_ the one issuing orders, Mamma."

"And when I think of those poor children…how tragic for a mother…I wonder how she is holding up?" she was saying more to herself than to Nellie as they continued to walk down the corridor to the East Wing.

Nellie did not have time to consider the question; her mother had already passed through the parlor door and the old man had marched up to kiss her hand. The old bastard, according to her father, had always had a way with her mother-and Nellie thought he might have been her beau, if her parents hadn't been happily married.

Nellie blinked at the figure which had risen behind General Taylor. She was not beautiful, but her countenance was unmistakably that of a true southern belle, the sort of which Nellie had always aspired to attain but had never mastered, for all of her training. The woman had jet black hair and her face was clear ivory, slightly stained with tears. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, evidence of recent crying, but they were remarkable for their unusual hue, the color of emeralds. She held out her small hand at Taylor's insistence. There were three children with her, two boys and a girl. The boys were two or three years younger than her brother Jesse, both long-legged and raw-boned but with delicate profiles. The girl had a strange shade of red hair and bright grasping eyes.

"I'm honored to make your acquaintance," Scarlett Butler said, her voice barely audible. "And this is my son, Wade, and my daughter, Ella, and my nephew, Beauregard."

"Julia Grant," Mrs. Grant took the other woman's hand and patted it in a motherly way. "Why, Mrs. Butler, I _have_ seen you before-you were at the reception several evenings ago. I remember it well…it was your dress, Nellie, did I not tell you? I told my daughter that your gown was remarkable and that we'd be certain to see it written up in the Society pages. Well, it's no wonder we were not introduced then, given the state of things…I do hope you have decent accommodations in the city, my dear. It can be a rough place for a woman and three children."

"You are very kind to inquire," Scarlett Butler said. Nellie felt slightly insulted, as though the other woman thought both she and her mother very childlike.

Richard Taylor interrupted her. "Wasn't safe for 'em at the hotel. Too much publicity."

"Why, I certainly understand that. Although, I must say, the editorial has done nothing but allow me to fully appreciate the urgency of your situation."

Scarlett nodded demurely. "I just want them to free my husband and let us all go home. But I cannot bring myself to leave without him."

Julia Grant understood that sort of desperation. She had endured it firsthand, along with the fame and fortune and folly of public opinion. "Richard, I trust that you are lending your influence to Mr. Butler's benefit?"

Taylor grunted. "Do what I can."

"He has been so very kind," Scarlett said, her voice dripping with charm. "I do declare, I would have been lost without him."

"Richard is a miracle worker," Mrs. Grant said fondly, "I remember when…well…I and my husband remain eternally in your debt, Richard."

"No need to sing my praises," Taylor said. "Just doing my duty. How is the President, by the by?"

Mrs. Grant sighed. She had been married to her husband over twenty years and handling him was like second nature to her, but lately, he had caused her real anxiety in his failure to act when it counted. "He exasperates me beyond endurance."

"Mother!" Nellie chided, aghast that her mother would discuss their business with Taylor and complete strangers.

"Well, it's no secret, Nellie dear. And you do nothing to help my anxiety. I trust that Mrs. Butler has endured feelings of the same nature."

Scarlett cracked a smile. "I certainly can relate."

"There, you see?" Mrs. Grant said triumphantly. "What you do not understand, Nellie, is the camaraderie between we Southern women, no matter which side our husbands fought on…none of you understand it. You were a baby while your dear father was off warring. If the war made anyone, Nellie, it made us women rise above. Rise above, or fall. Isn't that right, Taylor?"

"Indeed, indeed."

"And when the men came back, they were either broken or content to live like lilies of the field, off our struggles…was it that way with you, Mrs. Butler?"

Again Scarlett looked ready to cry, and Nellie Grant could not for the life of her discern whether the tears were real or contrived to draw her mother in further, "I was a young widow when the war was on. I worked every day in the hospital in Atlanta, up until we were occupied…and then, we fled, myself, my son and sister-in-law and her newborn, all of us to my family's plantation to find it in ruins. My mother had died of typhoid and my sisters were ill, my father had gone mad and they all looked to me…and then…" Tears overcame her and she began to cry in earnest, earning her an embrace from Mrs. Grant.

"You mustn't cry, oh my dear, my brave dear. My brave, brave dear."

Mrs. Grant wiped her own misty eyes with her handkerchief and saw a reflection of herself within the younger woman. A younger, more attractive version, to be sure, but no less resilient and clever. And no less devoted. She could see it now without having to hear any more biographical information: a young aristocratic belle, married young and then widowed, thrust into the mad world of Reconstruction and having no parental guidance, practically penniless and with no experience. She'd been left with a rundown farm and expected to make a success of it; how could she help landing into the arms of a charismatic man with money and few scruples but having fallen madly in love with him nonetheless. Rhett Butler could have been the scourge of civilization for all Mrs. Grant cared. Scarlett Butler had earned Richard Taylor's respect and now hers, and she would do all she could to see that her husband was returned to her. The poor girl deserved that, at least that!

"Everything is against you. The weather is against your husband, I'm afraid. They're all rather in league against him, but I shall do what I can." She grabbed Scarlett's delicate, blue-veined little hand. "I promise you. I promise to do what I can for you."

"Thank you," Scarlett Butler replied, her voice choked with emotion.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Butler, children. I leave you all in Richard's care. I trust him completely. You will do what you can, Richard?"

Taylor nodded. "Miss Julia. Miss Ellen."

Nellie shuddered. What gave the old bastard the right to call her by her Christian name?

"Come along, Nellie." She turned on her heels and ambled back down the long corridor, Nellie close behind. "That's a true Southern belle if I ever saw one," she muttered. "Would that you'd commit to memory the look of her, Nellie Grant. Her kind are rare these days."

"If the Pinkerton agents have their way, she could be a dead sport," Nellie offered, "I read the _whole_ article, Mamma. They want to implicate her in the plot as well…"

Her mother had heard her but didn't answer. "Yes indeed, that's the finest looking woman I've ever seen."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: … Well, I _did_ promise it wouldn't be a month... I hope that the Grants aren't rolling in their graves at their characterization - I promise not to extrapolate them too much, but they are a fun group to play with! Thank you all so very much for your kindness, patience, and feedback! **


	18. The Bribe

**Chapter 18 **

The weather was as indifferent as Rhett Butler's disposition. The sky looked as if it couldn't make up its mind whether or not it should rain. The sky was an unpleasant grey and the sun had not bothered to come out. All the way from his cell to the courthouse, Rhett had set in the carriage guarded by armed soldiers, staring down at his feet, which stuck out in front of him, encased in heavy brown shoes which were much too tight for him. Every now and then, a guard would observe his lips moving, but he said nothing to them and let all of their courtesy remarks pass as though he had not heard them.

He was too busy thinking about his brother's threats. And Scarlett. Always Scarlett. What had possessed him to take her to New Orleans for their honeymoon? He knew, of course. He had been full of himself then, enormously wealthy and supremely satisfied with his lot in life. He had finally prevailed upon the woman he had always wanted to marry him, and he was ready and willing to put his reprehensible past behind him and start over, reinvent himself as thoroughly respectable…or at least create a veneer of such…

As it was, he had succeeded in doing nothing more than putting her in even greater danger. And Scarlett, being herself, had never shied away from a challenge, even in the face of defeat. Case in point, traveling through a burning Atlanta and a Yankee line in a determined effort to make it home to Tara. That had always been her problem: she didn't know when to cry halt. But it was what he admired most about her; hell, that was why he had fallen in love with her in the first place.

Finally, the rig stopped, and the two captains hauled Rhett up, one positioned at each arm.

"C'mon. Trial's a-waitin'."

"What's the matter with you? You ain't even been convicted yet!" the more jovial of the two soldiers commented. "Don't you feel good?"

Rhett turned and looked the man straight in the face and said with a slow concentrated ferocity, "As a matter of fact, I do not."

The captain looked genuinely distressed at this, and he made a quick gesture to his counterpart who held Rhett's other arm.

"Doncha think?" he was muttering.

"We got our orders," the other whispered back.

"Ain't right, dammit. Ain't right," the captain groaned.

"Shut up, won't you?" Rhett smarted.

There was nothing either of his jailers could say to this and they showed it. But they had to have been moved by pity, for their prisoner looked completely defeated, the distinct look of someone who has lost everything and knows it full well.

The federal courthouse was a grey and red brick blaze-faced building set in the center of a square from which most of the grass had been worn off. The men walked Rhett through the back door, then motioned for him to wait in a long, narrow corridor which was devoid of all décor and therefore, quite nondescript in its grayness, while they traveled through a doorway and locked it behind them.

He supposed that he had been there for about a half-hour before they returned. His face was withdrawn and he felt a keen sense of foreboding. What if the new plan was to hire a well-trained assassin to have him done with before he'd even been tried? He might trust his body in better circumstances to win out, but he'd been malnourished for weeks and his arms were handcuffed. No chance there. Grimly he waited, his eyes darting towards the doorway. He was not going to touch it, so certain was he that it was a trap. Why was it being presented here now for him to take, now when he felt more desperate than ever before? He then began trying to decide what motive they could have if this were not a trap.

The door opened, slowly, and he saw first his two jailers, then another blue-clad soldier, then finally, her. His wife. Scarlett. She stood like a shadow beyond the light, only vaguely visible in the darkness of the corridor. She was dressed in pale blue watered silk, a gown he had not seen before, and with her long black hair, she might have been an angelic vision, not real at all.

But she was there! He could feel his heart climb to his throat and he wanted nothing more than to seize her in his arms, clutch her to his chest, and cover her face with passionate kisses. This was not a trap, but a bribe, although the word _bribe_ did not come to his mind initially. It's a present, he thought, to keep me straight!

Her thin white face was bright with a wide smile that disappeared as she caught sight of him bracing himself against the wall. The smile disappeared so quickly that he realized for the first time how terrible he must look. Scarlett gave a little cry; she looked downright aghast.

"Only a few minutes," the friendly guard said, then urged the other two men back through the doorway. "Much obliged, Miz Butler."

Scarlett nodded as the men exited, closing the door behind them. She stepped up and flung her arms about him. "Why are you still in handcuffs?"

"Only till I arrive in court," he smiled, putting on a brave face. "Guilty until proven innocent, my pet…but how did you…?"

"Oh never mind how, my darling. Oh Rhett. Rhett, I've been so worried about you. Uncle Henry said they'd moved the trial date up and General Taylor thought we would have more time and…oh Rhett…Ashley hasn't even made it back yet."

"They're in a hurry to get it over and done with."

"Oh don't say that, Rhett!"

"It's true, isn't it, my love?" he said glumly but with dignity. "Now listen to me closely, Scarlett, I want you to be careful, you understand? There's more to all this than you realize…if some ill were to befall you on my account…Scarlett? You understand me?"

"I realize…oh Rhett, Rhett you can barely move!"

He sighed and lifted his left leg and rolled up his trouser leg so that she could see the ulcer that had formed on his marble-white calf.

"Rhett! How did that happen?"

"I don't feel like talking about it, Scarlett, not now. Not when we're alone."

"Oh, of course, Rhett. What do you want to talk about, darling?"

"Anything else. Tell me about Wade and Ella and Beau. Tell me about the weather. Tell me whatever thoughts pass through that elegant head of yours and tell me…"

She silenced him with a kiss. Her lips were red and moist and he could feel himself jolted back to life as they touched his. There was an excited flush on Rhett's face; his heart was beating unnaturally fast. Scarlett's face was bright with pleasure.

The guards were talking loudly as they came up the stairs, although Rhett and Scarlett were too occupied in one another to distinguish their words. The jovial one of the trio came in making faces and the other two were half-smiling at the scene.

"Reckon we done you a big favor, Cap'n Butler," the man's voice broke in on them with the force of a gunshot.

Scarlett looked back at them and smiled. "I can't thank you enough," she said, with deep satisfaction.

Rhett's face was stony, but there was a glint of triumph in his eyes.

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><p><strong>AN: This little chapter stems from Helen's request for Scarlett to be back in his arms soon…I took pity on them both and gave them a tiny moment alone. ;) The next chapter, we'll catch up with Belle and Ashley in New Orleans as they look for the dastardly Jacobs, and then it's back to Washington for the trial of the century. As you can undoubtedly tell, reviews really do make my day, not to mention give me inspiration! This is a short update, but never fear, the climax is coming. **


	19. New Orleans

**A/N: Once upon a time, there was an eighth grade history teacher who was finishing her master's degree and forgot about fan-fiction for an unforgivably long period of time. That being said, that selfsame teacher/student has reached a period of rest we like to call "Spring Break"; so, I am so very excited to unveil this chapter (which was really fun to write, by the way) and as of tomorrow (hopefully) the next installment of "Somewhere in Time". So. I hope that I've not been too terribly missed...BUT I know that there are other writers 10x more brilliant than I who have been holding you (and me) over….**

**That being said, I still love reviews (who doesn't?) - so, if you're inclined… = )**

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><p><strong>Chapter 19:<strong>

After four days of searching, Ashley's initial enthusiasm had passed. He would admit to no more than that to Belle, who was just as determined as he had been the first day; while he thought determination was a less powerful tool, he thought that in this case, it was the one best fitted for the job. It had taken him barely half a day to find out that the man they were looking for had made a wreck of Belle and that what was called for was a monumental job of restoration.

Although it was only seven thirty in the evening, he had seen Belle to her hotel room and told her that he was going into his own room to read. He had offered her books, among other things, which she declined with good humor saying, "I couldn' read them even if I wanted to, Ashley, but I'm might tire'd as it is, so I'm thankin' you."

Ashley had said goodnight then, and gone to his room and closed the door, not saying whether he intended to read or not, but finding himself too exhausted to do any sort of activity besides lying restlessly in bed.

He was curious, after all…he was a man. What was Belle doing in the room adjacent to his? He recalled the first night of their mutual acquaintance. They had shared a train car and he, gentlemanly, had offered her the cot. She had accepted gratefully, and had fallen asleep fully dressed. His eyes had moved over and over the sprawled out figure which appeared so lost in exhaustion that it seemed doubtful it would ever move again. As he followed the outline of her face, he realized with an intense stab of panic that he was attracted to her, an emotion that filled him with the pain of betrayal. His poor dead wife! Melly had been the only real pleasure in his life, along with the son she gave him. Melly had befriended this woman at his feet, a relationship that had inadvertently grown over the years, to the point where Belle had risked her life and reputation on his behalf. If Belle had not been a woman of dubious morals, Ashley might have thought that Melly had engineered the entire thing purposefully. As it was, after the calamitous events he had witnessed in Washington, he had fallen prey to morbid guilt. He had never liked Rhett Butler much, but by God, he did not wish the man dead!

The next day came early, and on the way to the dining salon, Ashley knocked on Belle's door to wake her. She said through the door that she would be right down. Once out in the street, Belle with her oilcloth bag filled to the brim with money and the new dress they had purchased in Atlanta and he with his notepad, pencil, and the revolver he kept snug in the inner pocket of his waistcoat, the two separated, agreeing to return at the street corner adjacent to the tobacconist's shop. Ashley ended up waiting longer for Belle, despite him having gone to Jacobs' law office, which refused to see him in the door, and then to the local sheriff, who didn't even check out his statement, before finally, defeated, trying his luck at the bank, which refused him entry as well.

Belle was nearly running and stammered, "I'm so sorry I kept you."

He nodded, "It's fine."

"You figger anything out?"

He shook his head. "No such luck. You?"

She nodded, and smiled one of the first real smiles he had seen out of her. "I did find out something. See there, that big, fine place thataway? I used ter work there. Well, you know. 'Fore Rhett set me up in business, like." She shook her head and pretended to smack her cheek. "I'm sorry, Mister Wilkes…Ashley. I didn't mean ter say none of that in front of you…I ain't got no sense-"

"It's fine," he interrupted. "What did you learn?"

She whispered, "Well, I saw my boy. He's near eighteen years now. 'Most a man. Hell. He _is_ a man. Plays poker over there in that house, and he tells me that Jacobs is workin' for the U-S of A now. And got paid a truckload to sell out Rhett. All 'count of Rhett's bein' 'filiated with a man by name of-"

Ashley cut her off and put a finger to her lips. "I'm sorry, Belle," he muttered. "I just saw-"

"What?" she said worriedly, her eyes following his.

"Nothing," he surmised. "Let's walk this way."

He took her arm and continued to take in his surroundings, seeing nothing out of the ordinary in the swirl of patrons on the busy street. But still, Ashley had a lingering suspicion that they were being followed. He saw a man with familiar looking tan shoes leaning against the front of the tobacconist's shop, staring silently up at them. Ashley, worried, told Belle that he thought that he had seen that very man before, and Belle wanted to get going right away. Ashley drew himself up and grabbed her by the arm, saying that they had better step on it.

Belle looked behind her and told him that the man was moving, and that a second man had joined him in pursuit.

Ashley turned his head quickly, "The one on the left I've seen before. He was on the Atlanta train with me." Belle thought that he seemed worried, so she squeezed his hand.

"It's gonna be fine, you hear?" she said emphatically.

They headed toward Belle's old house, which wasn't far, and Belle reported that the men had ceased in their pursuit. Ashley was relieved, but not about to let his guard down, even as all that was good and honorable within him let out a horrified shudder as he walked, in broad daylight, into a bad house on the arm of Atlanta's most notorious madam. If only Melly could see him now…at least it was for a good cause, he surmised.

Belle introduced him to her son then, a boy called Eric who was quite the hellion, in the words of his proud mama. Despite Ashley's initial suspicion that Belle's son might have been fathered by none other than Rhett, he was fairly convinced that it was not so. Eric was a big man, like Rhett, tall and broad shouldered, but with a thatch of bright red hair and crystal blue eyes. At his arm was a plump, sweet-voiced whore with a French accent. Right off, the whore said to make himself at home, and Ashley felt his knees go slightly weak at the sight of so many fine physical specimens of the female. But Belle jabbed him in the stomach.

"Want me ter get us a table?"

He nodded. "You know the way around this…establishment?"

"Aww, shucks, Mister Wilkes, that's all I get? I did catch you lookin' just then." She teased him.

He rolled his eyes. "I…I never…"

"I know," she soothed, patting his arm. "I know you ain't been unfaithful ter Miz Wilkes."

Ashley grimaced, a stab of guilt hitting him. Although the temptation of Scarlett was forever out of his system, he felt somewhat complacent in Rhett's situation - as if, if he had been out of the picture, all of Rhett's current troubles could have been prevented.

Belle jabbed him in the arm this time. "She asked what'r you havin'?"

"Err…sherry?"

Belle rolled her eyes. "He wants him a shot of bourbon with two tequila chasers. I'll have me a Grand Duke's Nectar."

"What did you just order?"

"I figger you better start drinkin' like a man, or somebody'll throw you out."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me, sug."

"Sug? I -" he was about to argue, but he was cut off completely by her lips connecting with his, by her tongue laying siege to his…God, why was he so hungry for it? Perhaps it was because he had never been kissed in such a way, and by such a woman…and then he saw what she was up to - their men had followed them, and were seated at the bar, whispering to the barmaid, who looked nervous.

"Jes' play along," Belle whispered, before wrapping her hand around his…unmentionables, and stroking him in a way in which made him likely to explode from desire, she wrapped an arm around him, then whispered in his other ear. "I'm so, so, sorry. Miz Wilkes rollin' over in her grave. And I'm-"

"Shut up," he ordered, wanting her to stop talking and kiss him again.

"Look," she said, motioning toward the bar.

The men had gotten up and were moving toward them, slowly, already close.

"Get up nice and easy," Belle instructed, "…jes' like we're goin' upstairs, like."

Ashley nodded and followed her, not changing his pace, but putting his hand on his jacket pocket and ascertaining that the revolver was safely there.

Belle stopped and jerked her head around. One of the men had grabbed her by the shoulder. She made a move, as if she were going to butt him with her kneecap. The point of her shoe connected, and the man howled, thrashing out to hit her and called for Stebbins. Stebbins was Ashley's man from the train, and he had seen him coming. He hit him twice, as hard as he could, which was not hard enough to fall his opponent. The other man had gotten a hold of himself, and had knocked Belle to the ground. Her boy Eric had come out of the private dining room and was yelling for everybody to stay calm, but then saw his mother facedown on the floor and lunged at her assailant.

Meanwhile, Ashley had been struck, and his nose was bleeding profusely.

"Lookee here, Stebbins," the other brute said, "I'm gonna let the whore have it now- hit me will you? You dumb bitch!"

"Belle!" Ashley lunged in front of her, seeing the knife in the other man's hands.

"Mist' Wilkes! NO!" Belle screamed. But Ashley's mouth had been slashed and his arm cut open. He clutched at his arm, dripping with blood.

"Touch her-"

"Ain't that sweet, Stebbins? He's got hisself a girlfriend."

"They'll have plenty of time to get to know each other in jail, eh?"

But Eric had come from behind, and gotten on the back side of Stebbins and the other fellow with the knife. He had a gun in his hands, as did the three other men who had his back.

Ashley didn't dare move himself, but he felt Belle's shaking hands on his injured arms and her mumbling of "S-s-weet Jesus, Miz Wilkes…"

"We are agents of the Federal government!" Stebbins was protesting.

"You're in a sportin' house, buddy," Eric said casually. "There's an unwritten law about fools like you…don't matter where you come from, who your daddy is, so to speak. Ain't nothing seperatin' you from me, or you from the crocodiles that live out in the bayou. You saw that swampy lake, I take it? Well, that'll be your permanent place if I catch you boys near my Ma again. Get out, boys. While you can."

They started backing off slowly, not taking their eyes off of Ashley and Belle, although once they reached a certain distance, they refocused their attention on the men with pistols. When they were close to the door, they took off running and Eric immediately rushed to Belle's side, and told her that there was a doctor somewhere upstairs, who would be down in a jiffy.

Ashley tried to speak, but as he did, blood bubbled up in his mouth and Belle shushed him.

"He needs a doctor now!" she cried.

Ashley shook his head. "Jacobs, got to…go."

Eric nodded. "I know, Mister Wilkes. Ma told me what was going on. Jacobs is here in town somewhere. Close. And the feds think that they have their man and you're fixin' to spoil it. Ma, you got to tell the law. The constable, he's a loyal Confederate, he'll understand - get you safe up to Washington so you can tell 'em that whole trial's a sham. Them boys is criminals, and they should hang for it!"

"Ain't no damn use," Belle was trembling. "Ain't gonna listen to us about nothing. I'm what I am and…even if we was ter testify and bring these guys ter the law, I'm a whore, ain't nothin' better than a whore and -"

Ashley glanced at her, her red hair freed from its pins and hanging loose about her shoulders. Her handsome, unpainted face, and her curvaceous figure…like a Renaissance painting…not a Madonna, perhaps, not even an Aphrodite…no Belle was earthy and warm and yet, deeply sensual and…she was Persephone, he decided, the Queen of the Underworld. Fitting.

"Belle," he muttered through bloodstained teeth. "I have a plan."


End file.
